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>.:'.*i;v'/.<lC'. . , 


THE  LIBRARY  - 
OF 
THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


BEQUEST  OF 

Alice  R.  Hilgard 


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/.^UM-  /a^ 


HORTUS   INCLUSUS. 


HORTUS    INCLUSUS 


MESSAGES   FROM   THE   WOOD   TO 
THE   GARDEN, 


SENT  IN    HAPPY  DAYS   TO   THE 

SISTER  LADIES  OF  THE   THWAITE,   CONISTON, 


BY  Timm  THANKFUL  FRIEND 

JOHN    EUSKIN,    LL.D. 


NEW  YORK 
74  FIFTH  AVENUE 


GIFT 


DEDICATED 


WITH  GRATEFUL   THANKS  TO  MY  DEAR  FRIENDS 


PROFESSOR    RUSKIN 


AND 


ALBERT   FLEMING. 

S.  B. 


iw85Jiy40 


PREFACE. 


The    ladies    to    whom    these    letters    were    written 

have    been,  throughout   their  briglitly   tranquil  lives,  at 

once  sources  and  loadstones  of  all  good  to  the  village 

in  which  they  had  their  home,  and  to  all  loving  people 

who  cared  for  the   village  and   its  vale   and  secluded 

lake,  and  whatever  remained  in  them  or  around  of  the 

former  peace,   beauty,  and  pride  of  English  Shepherd 

Land. 

Sources  they   have    been   of  good,   like   one   of    its 

mountain    springs,  ever   to  be   found    at   need.     They 

did  not  travel ;  they  did  not   go  up  to  London  in  its 

season ;   they   did    not   receive   idle   visitors   to    jar   or 

waste  their  leisure  in  the  waning  year.     The  poor  and 

the    sick    could    find    them    always ;     or   rather,    they 

watched   for   and    prevented  all  poverty  and  pain    that 

care   or   tenderness   could  relieve  or   heal.     Loadstones 

they  were,  as  steadily  bringing  the  b'ght  of  gentle  and 

wise   souls  about  them  as  the   crest  of   their  guardian 


yi  PREFACE. 

mountain  gives  pause  to  the  morning  clouds :  in  them- 
selves they  were  types  of  perfect  "womanhood  in  its 
constant  happiness,  queens  alike  of  their  own  hearts 
and  of  a  Paradise  in  which  they  knew  the  names  and 
sympathized  with  the  spirits  of  every  living  creature 
that  God  had  made  to  play  therein,  or  to  blossom  in  its 
sunshine  or  shade. 

They  had  lost  their  dearly-loved  younger  sister, 
Margaret,  before  I  knew  them.  Mary  and  Susie,  alike 
in  benevolence,  serenity,  and  practical  judgment,  were 
yet  widely  different,  nay,  almost  contrary,  in  tone  and 
impulse  of  intellect.  Both  of  them  capable  of  under- 
standing whatever  women  should  know,  the  elder  was 
yet  chiefly  interested  in  the  course  of  immediate  Eng- 
lish business,  policy,  and  progressive  science,  while 
Susie  lived  an  aerial  and  enchanted  life,  possessing  all 
the  highest  joys  of  imagination,  while  she  yielded  to 
none  of  its  deceits,  sicknesses,  or  errors.  She  saW',  an^ 
felt,  and  believed  all  good,  as  it  had  ever  been,  and  was 
to  be,  in  the  reality  and  eternity  of  its  goodness,  with 
the  acceptance  and  the  hope  of  a  child  ;  the  least  things 
were  treasures  to  her,  and  her  moments  fuller  of  joy 
than  some  people's  days. 


PREFACE.  Vll 

What  she  has  been  to  rae,  in  the  days  and  years  when 
otlier  friendship  lias  been  failing,  and  others'  "  loving, 
mere  folly,"  the  reader  will  enough  sec  from  these  let- 
ters, written  certainly  for  her  only,  but  from  which  she 
has  permitted  my  Master  of  the  Eural  Industries  at 
Longhrigg,  Albert  Fleming,  to  choose  what  he  thinks, 
among  the  tendrils  of  clinging  thought,  and  mossy  cups 
for  dew  in  the  Garden  of  Herbs  where  Love  is,  may  be 
trusted  to  the  memorial  sympathy  of  the  readers  of 
"  Frondes  Agrestes." 

J.  K. 
Brantwood, 

June,  1887. 


INTRODUCTION 


Often  during  those  visits  to  the  Thwaite  wbicli  have 
grown  to  be  the  best-spent  hours  of  my  Later  years,  I 
have  urged  my  dear  friend  Miss  Beever  to  open  to  the 
larger  world  the  pleasant  paths  of  this  her  Garden  En- 
closed. The  inner  circle  of  her  friends  knew  that  she 
had  a  goodly  store  of  Mr.  Ruskin's  letters,  extending 
over  many  years.  She  for  her  part  had  long  desired  to 
share  with  others  the  pleasure  these  letters  had  given 
her,  but  she  shrank  from  the  fatigue  of  selecting  and  ar- 
ranging them.  It  was,  therefore,  with  no  small  feeling 
of  satisfaction  that  I  drove  home  from  the  Thwaite  one 
day  in  February  last  with  a  parcel  containing  nearly  two 
thousand  of  these  treasured  letters.  I  was  gladdened 
also  by  generous  permission,  both  from  Brantwood  and 
the  Thwaite,  to  choose  what  I  liked  best  for  publication. 
The  letters  themselves  are  the  fruit  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful friendship  I  liave  ever  been  permitted  to  witness,  a 
friendship  su  unicpie  in  some  aspects  of  it,  so  sacred  in 

LX 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

all,  that  I  may  only  give  it  the  praise  of  silence.  I  count 
myself  happy  to  have  been  allowed  to  throw  open  to  all 
wise  and  quiet  souls  the  portals  of  this  Armida's  Garden, 
where  there  are  no  spells  save  those  woven  by  love,  and 
no  magic  save  that  of  grace  and  kindliness.  Here  my 
pleasant  share  in  this  little  book  would  have  ended,  but 
Mr.  Kuskin  has  desired  me  to  add  a  few  words,  giving 
my  own  description  of  Susie,  and  speaking  of  my  rela- 
tionship to  them  both.  To  him  I  owe  the  guidance  of 
my  life, — all  its  best  impulses,  all  its  worthiest  efforts; 
to  her  some  of  its  happiest  hours,  and  the  blessings  alike 
of  incentive  and  reproof.  In  reading  over  Mr.  Ruskin's 
Preface,  I  note  that,  either  by  grace  of  purpose  or  happy 
chance,  he  has  left  me  one  point  untouched  in  our  dear 
fi-iend's  character.  Her  letters  inserted  here  give  some 
evidence  of  it,  but  I  should  like  to  place  on  record  how 
her  intense  delight  in  sweet  and  simple  things  has  blos- 
somed into  a  kind  of  mental  frolic  and  dainty  wit,  so 
<:hat  even  now  in  the  calm  autumn  of  her  days,  her 
friends  are  not  only  lessoned  by  her  ripened  wisdom,  but 
cheered  and  recreated  by  her  quaint  and  sprightly 
humour. 

In  the  Eoyal  Order  of   Gardens,  as  Bacon  puts  it, 


INTIiODUCTIOiq'.  XI 

there  was  always  a  quiet  resting-place  called  the  Pleas- 
auiice;  there  the  daisies  grew  unchecked,  and  the  grass 
was  ever  the  greenest.  Such  a  Pleasaunce  do  these  Let- 
ters seem  to  me.  Here  and  there,  indeed,  there  are 
shadows  on  the  grass,  but  no  shadow^  ever  falls  between 
the  two  dear  friends  who  walk  together  hand  in  hand 
along  its  pleasant  paths.  So  may  they  walk  in  peace  till 
they  stand  at  the  gate  of  another  Garden,  where 

*'  Co'  fiori  eterni,  eteruo  il  frutto  dura." 

A.  F. 

Neaum  Crag, 
loughrigg, 
Ambleside. 


HORTUS   INCLUSUS. 


THE   sacristan's   CELL. 


Assist,  Hth  Apnl,  1874. 

I  got  to-day  yonr  lovely  letter  of  the  6th,  but  I  never 
knew  my  Susie  could  be  such  a  naughty  littje  girl  be- 
fore ;  to  burn  her  pretty  story  *  instead  of  sending  it  to 
me.  It  would  have  come  to  me  so  exactly  in  the  right 
place  here,  where  St.  Francis  made  the  grasshopper 
(cicada,  at  least)  sing  to  him  upon  his  hand,  and 
preached  to  the  birds,  and  made  the  wolf  go  its  rounds 
every  day  as  regularly  as  any  Franciscan  friar,  to  ask 
for  a  little  contribution  to  its  modest  dinner.  The  Bee 
and  Narcissus  would  have  delighted  to  talk  in  this  en- 
chanted air. 

Yes,  that  76'  really  very  pretty  of  Dr.  John  to  inscribe 
your  books  so,  and  it's  so  like  him.     How  these  kind 
people  understand  things  !     And  that  bit  of  his  about 
the  child  ic  wholly  lovely ;  I  am  so  glad  you  copied  it. 
*  "The  Bee  and  Narcissus." 


2  HOKTUS   INCLUSUS. 

I  often  think  of  jou,  and  of  Coniston  and  Brant- 
wood.  You  will  see,  in  the  May  Fors,  reflections  upon 
the  temptations  to  the  life  of  a  Franciscan. 

Thei*e  are  two  monks  here,  one  the  sacristan  who  has 
charge  of  the  entire  church,  and  is  responsible  for  its 
treasures  ;  the  other  exercising  what  authority  is  left  to 
the  convent  among  the  people  of  the  town.  They  are 
both  so  good  and  innocent  and  sweet,  one  can't  pity 
them  enough.  For  this  time  in  Italy  is  just  like  the 
Reformation  in  Scotland,  with  only  the  difference  that 
the  Reform  movement  is  carried  on  here  simply  for  the 
sake  of  what  money  can  be  got  by  Church  confiscation. 
And  these  two  brothers  are  living  by  indulgence,  as  the 
Abbot  in  the  Monastery  of  St.  Mary's  in  the  Regent 
Moray's  time. 

The  people  of  the  village,  however,  are  all  true  to 
their  faith;  it  is  only  the  governing  body  which  is 
modern-infidel  and  radical.  The  jiopulation  is  quite 
charming, — a  word  of  kindness  makes  them  as  bright 
as  if  you  bronglit  them  news  of  a  friend.  All  the  same, 
it  does  not  do  to  offend  them ;  Monsieur  Cavalcasella, 
who  is  expecting  the  Government  order  to  take  the 
Tabernacle  from  the  Sanctuary  of  St.  Francis,  cannot,  it 


THE   SACRISTAX  S   CELL.  3 

is  said,  go  oat  at  night  with  safety.  He  decamj^ed  the 
day  before  I  came,  having  some  notion,  I  fancy,  that  I 
would  make  his  life  a  burden  to  him,  if  he  didn't,  by 
day,  as  much  as  it  was  in  peril  by  night.  I  promise 
myself  a  month  of  very  happy  time  here  (happy  for  rae^ 
I  mean)  when  I  return  in  May. 

The  sacristan  gives  me  my  coffee  for  lunch,  in  his 
own  little  cell,  looking  out  on  the  olive  woods;  then  he 
tells  me  stories  of  conversions  and  miracles,  and  then 
perhaps  we  go  into  the  Sacristy  and  have  a  revereiit 
little  poke  out  of  relics.  Fancy  a  great  carved  cupboard 
in  a  vaulted  chamber  full  of  most  precious  things  (the 
box  which  the  Holy  Virgin's  veil  used  to  be  kept  in,  to* 
begin  with),  and  leave  to  rummage  in  it  at  will ! 
Things  that  are  only  shown  twice  in  the  year  or  so, 
with  fumigation !  all  the  congregation  on  their  knees  ; 
and  the  sacristan  and  I  having  a  great  heap  of  them 
on  the  table  at  once,  like  a  dinner  service!  I  really 
looked  with  great  respect  at  St.  Francis's  old  camel-hair 
dress. 

I  am  obliged    to  go   to    Home   to-mon-ow,    however, 
and  to  A'aples  on  Saturday.     ]\Iy  witch  of  Sicily  *  ex- 
*Mi.s.s  Amy  Yule.     Sec  "  PricLerila,"  Vol.  HI.,  Chap.  vii. 


HORTUS  i:n"clusus. 


pects  me  this  clay  week,  and  slie's  going  to  take  nie 
such  lovely  drives,  and  talks  of  "  excursions"  which  I 
see  by  the  map  are  thirty  miles  away.  I  wonder  if  she 
thinks  me  so  horribly  old  that  it's  quite  proper.  It  will 
be  very  nice  if  she  does,  but  not  flattering.  I  know  her 
mother  can't  go  with  her,  I  suppose  her  maid  will.  If 
she  wants  any  other  chaperone  I  won't  go. 

She's  really  very  beautiful,  I  believe,  to  some  people's 
tastes,  (I  shall  be  horribly  disappointed  if  she  isn't,  in 
her  own  dark  style,)  and  she  writes,  next  to  Susie,  the 
loveliest  letters  I  ever  get. 

1^0 w,  Susie,  minJ,  you're  to  be  a  very  good  child 
while  I'm  away,  and  never  to  burn  any  more  stories  ; 
and  above  all,  you're  to  write  me  just  what  comes  into 
your  head,  and  ever  to  believe  me  your  loving 

J.  K. 


Naples,  2rid  May,  1874. 
I  heard  of  your  great  sorrow  ^  from  Joan  f  six  days 
ago,  and  have  not  been  able  to  write  since.      Nothing 
silences  me  so  much  as  sorrow,  and  for  this  of  yours  I 

*The  death  of  Miss  Margaret  Beever. 
\  Mrs.  Arthur  Severn, 


POMPEIAX   FRESCOES.  5 

have  no  comfort.  I  write  only  that  you  may  know  tliat 
I  am  thinking  of  you,  and  would  help  you  if  I  conld. 
And  I  write  to-day  because  your  lovely  letters  and  your 
lovely  old  age  have  been  forced  into  my  thoughts. often 
by  dreadful  contrast  during  these  days  in  Italy.  You 
who  are  so  purely  and  brightly  happy  in  all  natural  and 
simple  things,  seem  now  to  belong  to  another  and  a 
younger  world.  And  your  letters  liave  been  to  me  like 
the  pure  air  of  Yewdale  Crags  breathed  among  the  Pon- 
tine Marshes  ;  but  you  must  not  think  I  am  ungrateful 
for  them  when  I  can't  answer.  You  can  have  no  idea 
how  impossible  it  is  for  me  to  do  all  the  work  necessary 
even'for  memory  of  the  things  I  came  here  to  see  ;  how 
much  escapes  me,  how  much  is  done  in  a  broken  and 
weary  way.  I  am  the  only  author  on  ai't  who  does  the 
work  of  illustration  with  his  own  hand  ;  the  only  one 
therefore — and  I  am  not  insolent  in  savino;  tliis — who 
has  learned  his  business  thoroughly;  but  after  a  day's 
drawing  I  assure  you  one  cannot  sit  down  to  write  unless 
it  i)e  the  merest  nonsense  to  please  Joanie.  Believe  it  or 
not,  there  is  no  one  of  my  friends  whoju  I  write  so  scru- 
pulously to  as  to  you.  Vou  may  l)e  vexed  at  this,  but 
indeed  I  can't  but  try  to  write  carefully  in  answei*  to  all 


6  HORTUS   IKCLUSUS. 

your  kind  words,  and  so  sometimes  I  can't  at  all.  I 
vmst  tell  you,  however,  to-day,  what  I  saw  in  the  Pom- 
peian  frescoes — the  great  characteristic  of  falling  Rome, 
in  her  furious  desire  of  pleasure,  and  brutal  incapability 
of  it.  The  walls  of  Pompeii  are  covered  with  paintings 
meant  only  to  give  pleasure,  but  nothing  they  represent 
is  beautiful  or  delightful,  and  yesterday,  among  other 
calumniated  and  caricatured  birds,  I  saw  one  of  my 
Susie's  pets,  a  peacock ;  and  he  had  only  eleven  eyes  in 
his  tail.  Fancy  the  feverish  wretchedness  of  the  human- 
ity which  in  mere  pursuit  of  pleasure  or  power  had  re- 
duced itself  to  see  no  more  than  eleven  eyes  in  a  pea- 
cock's tail !     What  were  the  Cyclops  to  this  ? 

I  hope  to  get  to  Rome  this  evening,  and  to  be  there 
settled  for  some  time,  and  to  have  quieter  hours  for 
mv  letters. 


Rome,  %Zrd  May,  1874. 

A  number  of  business  letters  and  the  increasing  in- 
stinct for  work  here  as  time  shortens,  have  kept  me  too 
long  from  even  writing  a  mere  mama-note  to  you ; 
though  not  without  thought  of  you  daily. 

I  Lave  your  last  most  lovely  line  about  your  sister — 


THE    BEGINNIN"G   OF    '^FROl^DES'  7 

RTid  giving  me  that  inost  touching  fact  about  poor  Dr. 
John  Brown,  wliicli  I  am  grieved  and  yet  thankful  to 
know,  that  I  may  better  still  reverence  his  unfailing 
kindness  and  quick  sympatliy.  I  have  a  quite  wonder- 
ful letter  from  him  about  you  ;  but  I  will  not  tell  you 
what  he  says,  only  it  is  so  /'<?/'?/,  very  true,  and  so  very, 
very  pretty,  you  canH  think. 

I  have  written  to  my  bookseller  to  find  for  you,  and 
send  a  complete  edition  of  "  Modern  Painters,"  if  find- 
able.  If  not,  I  will  make  my  assistant  send  you  down 
my  own  fourth  and  fifth  volumes,  which  you  can  keep 
till  I  come  for  them  in  the  autumn. 

There  is  nothing  now  in  the  year  but  autumn  and 
winter.  I  really  begin  to  think  there  is  some  terrible 
change  of  climate  coming  upon  the  world  for  its  sin,  like 
another  deluge.  It  will  have  its  rainbow,  I  suppose, 
after  its  manner — promising  not  to  darken  the  world 
again,  and  then  not  to  drown. 


Rome,  2ith  May,  1874.     (Whit-Sumlai/.) 
I  have  to  day,  to  make  the  day  whiter  for  me,  your 

lovely  letter  of  the  14tli,  telling  me  your  age.     I  am  so 

glad  it  is  no  more  ;  you  are  only  thirteen  years  older 


8  HOETUS   INCLUSUS. 

than  I,  and  mucli  more  able  to  be  my  sister  than 
mamma,  and  I  hope  you  will  have  many  years  of  yonrli 
yet.  I  think  I  must  tell  you  in  return  for  this  letter 
^vhat  Dr.  John  Brown  said,  or  part  of  it  at  least.  He 
said  you  had  the  playfulness  of  a  lamb  without  its  sel- 
fishness. I  think  that  perfect  as  far  as  it  goes.  Of 
pourse  my  Susie's  wise  and  grave  gifts  must  be  told 
of  afterwards.  There  is  no  one  I  know,  or  have  known, 
80  well  able  as  you  are  to  be  in  a  degree  what  my  mother 
was  to  me.  In  this  chief  way  (as  well  as  many  other 
ways)  (the  puzzlement  I  have  had  to  force  that  sentence 
into  grammar!),  that  I  hav^e  had  the  same  certainty  of 
giving  you  pleasure  by  a  few  words  and  by  any  little  ac- 
count of  what  I  am  doing.  But  then  you  know^  1  have 
just  got  out  of  the  way  of  doing  as  I  am  bid,  and  unless 
you  can  scold  me  back  into  that,  you  can't  give  me  the 
senso  of  support. 

Tell  me  more  about  yourself  first,  and  how  those 
years  came  to  be  "lost."  I  am  not  sure  that  they 
were  ;  though  I  am  very  far  from  holding  the  empty 
theory  of  con.pensation ;  but  much  of  the  slighter  pleas- 
ure you  lost  th>>n  is  evidently  still  open  to  you,  fresh 
all  the  more  froui  having  been  for  a  time  withdrawn. 


THE   LOST   CRFHCH   IX   THE    CAM  PA GX A.  9 

The  Roman  peasants  are  very  gay  to-day,  u^itli  roses 
ill  tlieir  liair;  legitimately  and  honourably  decorated, 
and  looking  lovely.  Oh  me,  if  they  had  a  few  Susies 
to  take  human  care  of  them  what  a  glorious  people  they 
would  be! 


THE    LOST   CHUKCH    IX   THE    CAJMPAGXA. 

Rome,  2nd  June,  1874. 

Ah  if  you  were  but  among  the  marbles  here, 
tliough  there  are  none  finer  than  that  you  so  strangely 
discerned  in  my  study;  but  they  are  as  a  white  com- 
pany innumerable,  ghost  after  ghost.  And  how  you 
would  rejoice  in  them  and  in  a  thousand  things  be- 
sides, to  which  I  am  dead,  from  having  seen  too 
much  or  worked  too  painfully — or,  worst  of  all,  lost 
tlie  hope  which  gives  all  life. 

Last  Sundav  I  was  in  a  lost  church  found  ao-ain, 
— a  church  of  the  second  or  third  century,  dug  in  a 
green  hill  oF  the  Campagna,  built  underground ; — its 
secret  entrance  like  a  sand-martin's  nest.  Such  the 
temple  of  the  Lord,  as  the  King  Solomon  of  that  time 
had  to  build  it;  not  "the  mountains  of  the  Lord's 
house   shall    be   established    al)ove    the    hills,"    but   the 


10  nOETUS   INCLUSUS. 

cave  of  the  Lord's   bouse  as   the  fox's   hole,   beneath 
them. 

And  here,  now  lighted  by  the  sun  for  the  first 
time  (for  they  ai'e  still  digging  the  earth  from  the 
steps),  are  the  marbles  of  those  early  Christian  days ; 
the  first  efforts  of  their  new  hope  to  show  itself  in 
enduring  record,  the  new  hope  of  a  Good  Shepherd  : 
— there  they  carved  Him,  with  a  spring  flowing  at 
His  feet,  and  round  Him  the  cattle  of  the  Campagna 
in  which  they  had  dug  their  church,  the  very  self 
same  goats  which  this  morning  have  been  trotting 
past  my  window  through  the  most  j^opulous  streets 
of  Kome,  innocently  following  tlieir  shepherd,  tink- 
ling their  bells,  and  shaking  their  long  spiral  horns 
and  white  beards;  the  very  same  dew-lapped  cattle 
which  were  that  Sunday  morning  feeding  on  the  hill- 
side above,  carved  on  the  tomb-marbles  sixteen  hun- 
dred years  ago. 

How  you  would  have  liked  to  see  it,  Susie! 

Aud  now  to-day  I  am  going  to  work  in  an  eleventh 
century  church  of  quite  proud  and  victorious  Chris- 
tianity, with  its  grand  bishops  and  saints  lording  it 
over  Italy.     The  bishop's  throne   all   marble   and  mo- 


THE   LOST   CirURCII   IN"   TltE   CAMPAGNA.  11 

saic  of  ])recioiis  colours  and  of  jj^olfl,  In'irli  under  the 
vaulted  roof  at  the  end  behind  the  altar;  nnd  line 
ii})on  line  of  pillars  of  massive  porpliyry  and  marble, 
gathered  ont  of  tlie  ruins  of  the  tem])les  of  the  great 
race  who  liad  persecuted  them,  till  they  had  said  to 
the  hills.  Cover  ns,  like  the  wicked.  And  then  tlieir 
proud  time  came,  and  their  enthronement  on  the  seven 
hills;  and  now,  what  is  to  be  their  fate  once  more? 
— of  pope  and  cardinal  and  dome,  Peter's  or  PauFs 
by  name  only,  — "  My  house,  no  more  a  house  of 
prayer,  but  a  den  of  thieves." 

I  can't  write  any  more  this  morning.  Oh  me,  if 
one  could  only  write  and  draw^  all  one  w^anted,  and 
have  our  Susies  and  be  young  again,  oneself  and  they! 
(As  if  there  were  two  Susies,  or  could  be!) 

Ever  my  one  Susie's  very  loving 

J.    RUSKIN. 

I  have  sent  word  to  my  father's  old  head-clerk, 
now  a  great  merchant  himself,  to  send  you  a  little 
case  of  that  champagne.     Please  like  it. 


13  HORTUS   IKCLUSUS. 

KEGEETS. 

Assisi,  June  9th. 

Yes,  I  am  a  little  oppressed  just  now  with  over- 
work, nor  is  this  avoidable.  I  am  obliged  to  leave  all 
my  drawings  unfinished  as  the  last  days  come,  and 
the  point  possible  of  approximate  completion  fatally 
contracts,  every  lioiir,  to  a  more  ludicrous  and  warped 
mockery  of  the  hope  in  which  one  began.  It  is  im- 
possible not  to  work  against  time,  and  that  is  killing. 
It  is  not  labour  itself,  but  competitive,  anxious,  dis- 
appointed labour  that  dries  one's  soul  out. 

But  don't  be  frightened  about  me,  you  sweet  Susie. 
I  know  when  I  must  stop;  forgive  and  pity  me  only, 
because  sometimes,  nay  often  my  letter  (or  word)  to 
Susie  must  be  sacrificed  to  the  last  effort  on  one's 
drawing. 

The  letter  to  one's  Susie  should  be  a  rest,  do  you 
thinks  It  is  always  more  or  less  comforting,  but  not 
rest ;  it  means  further  employment  of  the  already  ex- 
tremely strained  sensational  power.  What  one  really 
wants !      I    believe    the   only   true   restorative    is    the 

/latural  one,  the  actual  presence  of  one's  "helpmeet." 
The  far  worse  than  absence  of  mine  reverses  rest,  and 


^^FKOXDES   AfJRESTES/*  13 

what  is  more,  destroys  one's  power  of  receiving  from 
others  or  giving. 

How  mneh  love  of  mine  Lave  otJiers  lost,  because 
that  poor  sick  child  would  not  have  the  part  of  love 
that  belonged  to  her! 

I  am  very  anxious  about  your  eyes  too.  For  any 
favour  cion't  wi'ite  more  extracts  just  now.  The  books 
are  yours  for  ever  and  a  day — no  loan  ;  enjoy  any  bits 
that  you  find  enjoyable,  but  don't  copy  just  now. 

I  left  Home  yesterday,  and  am  on  my  way  home ; 
but,  alas !  might  as  well  l)e  on  my  way  home  from 
Cochin  China,  for  any  caance  I  have  of  speedily  ar- 
riving. Meantime  your  letters  will  reach  me  here 
with  speed,  and  will  be  a  great  comfort  to  me,  if  they 
don't  fatigue  you. 


"fkondes  agrestes." 

Perugia,  12///  June. 
I  am  more  and  more  pleased  at  the  tlionght  of  this 
gathering  of  yours,  and   soon  expect  to   tell  you  what 
the  bookseller  says. 

Meantime   I    want    you    to   think    of    the    form    the 


14  HORTUS   INCLUSUS. 

collection  should  take  with  reference  to  mj  proposed 
re-piiblication.  I  mean  to  take  the  botany,  the  geology, 
the  Turner  defence,  and  the  general  art  criticism  of 
"  Modern  Painters,''  as  four  separate  books,  cutting  out 
nearly  all  the  preaching,  and  a  good  deal  of  the  senti- 
ment. Now  what  you  find  pleasant  and  helpful  to 
you  of  general  maxim  or  reflection,  must  be  of  some 
value  ;  and  I  think  therefore  that  your  selection  will 
just  do  for  me  what  no  other  reader  could  have  done, 
least  of  all  I  myself ;  keep  together,  that  is  to  say, 
what  may  be  right  and  true  of  those  youthful  thoughts. 
I  should  like  you  to  add  anything  that  specially  pleases 
you,  of  whatever  kind ;  but  to  keep  the  notion  of 
your  book  being  the  didactic  one  as  opposed  to  the 
other  picturesque  and  scientific  volumes,  will  I  think 
help  you  in  choosing  between  passages  when  one  or 
other  is  to  be  rejected. 


HOW   I   FELL    AMONG   THIEVES. 

Assisi,  Ylth  June. 
I  have  been  havino^  a  bad  time  latelv,  and  have  no 
heart  to  write  to  you.     Very  difficult  and  melancholy 
work,   deciphering   what    remains   of    a    great    painter 


HOW   I   FELL   AMOXG    TniEVES.  15 

among  stains  of  ruin  and  blotclies  of  repair,  of  five 
liundred  years'  gathering.  It  makes  me  sadder  than 
idleness,  which  is  saying  much. 

I  was  greatly  flattered  and  petted  by  a  saying  in 
one  of  your  last  letters,  about  the  difficulty  I  had  in 
unpacking  my  mind.  That  is  true ;  one  of  my  chief 
troubles  at  present  is  with  the  quantity  of  things  I 
want  to  say  at  once.  But  you  don't  know  how  I  find 
things  I  laid  by  carefully  in  it,  all  mouldy  and  moth- 
eaten  when  I  take  them  out ;  and  what  a  lot  of  mend- 
ing and  airing  they  need,  and  what  a  wearisome  and 
bothering  business  it  is  compared  to  the  early  pack- 
ing,— one  used  to  be  so  proud  to  get  things  into  the 
corners  neatly ! 

I  have  been  failing  in  my  drawings,  too,  and  I'm 
in  a  horrible  inn  kept  by  a  Garibaldian  bandit;  and  the 
various  sorts  of  disgusting  dishes  sent  up  to  hujk  like 
a  dinner,  and  to  be  charged  fur,  are  a  daily  increasing 
hoi'ror  and  amazement  to  me.  They  succeed  in  get- 
ting rrr/'//f///'/i(/  bad  ;  no  exertion,  no  invention,  could 
produce  such  badness,  I  believe,  anywhere  else.  Tlie 
hills  ai'e  coveix'd  foi-  leagues  with  olive  trees,  and  the 
oiPs   bad ;    tlirre   are    no   such    l(jvely  cattle   elsewhere 


16  HORTUS  IKCLUSUS. 

in  the  world,  and  the  butter's  bad  ;  half  the  country 
people  are  shepherds,  but  there's  no  mutton  ;  half  the 
old  women  walk  about  with  a  pig  tied  to  their  waists, 
but  there's  no  pork;  the  vine  grows  wild  anywhere, 
and  the  wine  would  make  my  teeth  drop  out  of  my 
bead  if  I  took  a  glass  of  it;  there  are  no  strawberries, 
no  oranges,  no  melons,  the  cherries  are  as  hard  as 
their  stones,  the  beans  only  good  for  horses,  or  Jack 
and  the  beanstalk,  and  this  is  the  size  of  the  biggest 
asparagus — 


I  live  here  in  a  narrow  street  ten  feet  wide  only, 
winding  up  a  hill,  and  it  was  full  this  morning  of  sheep 
as  close  as  they  could  pack,  at  least  a  thousand,  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach, — tinkle  tinkle,  bleat  bleat,  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour. 


IN  PARADISE. 

Assisi,  Sacristan's  Cell, 

25///-  June 
This  letter  is  all    upside   down,  and    this   first  page 
written  last ;  for  I  didn't  like  something  T  had  written 


IN    PARADISE.  17 

about  myself  last  night  when  I  was  tired,  and  have  torn 
it  otf. 

That  star  yun  saw  beat  like  a  heart  must  have  been  a 
dog  star.  A  planet  would  not  have  twinkled.  Far 
mightier,  he,  than  any  planet;  burning  with  his  own 
})lanetary  host  doubtless  round  him;  and,  on  some 
speckiest  of  the  specks  ot"  them,  evangelical  persons 
thinking  our  sun  was  made  for  them. 

Ah,  Susie,  I  do  not  pass,  unthought  of,  tlie  many 
sorrows  of  which  you  kindly  tell  me,  to  show  me 
— for  that  is  in  your  heart — how  others  have  suffered 
also. 

•  But,  Susie,  yo\i  expect  to  see  your  Margaret  again, 
and  you  will  be  happy  with  her  in  heaven.  I  wanted 
my  Rosie  here.  In  heaven  I  mean  to  go  and  talk  to 
Pythagoras  and  Socrates  and  Valerius  Publicola.  I 
shan't  care  a  bit  for  Rosie  there,  she  needn't  think  it. 
What  will  grey  eyes  and  red  cheeks  be  good   for  tJteref 

These  })ions  sentiments  are  all  written  in  my  sacris- 
tan's cell. 

Now,  Susie,  mind,  though  you're  only  eight  years 
old.  you  must  try  to  fancy  you're  ten  or  eleven,  and 
attend  to  what  I  say. 


18  HORTUS   IN"CLUSUS. 

This  extract  book  *  of  yonrs  will  be  most  precious 
iu  its  help  to  nie,  provided  it  is  kept  within  some- 
what narrow  limits.  As  soon  as  it  is  done  I  mean 
to  have  it  published  in  a  strong  and  pretty  but  cKeai) 
form,  and  it  must  not  be  too  bulky.  Consider,  there- 
fore, not  only  what  you  like,  but  how  far  and  with 
whom  each  bit  is  likely  to  find  consent  and  service. 
You  will  have  to  choose  perhaps,  after  a  little  while, 
among  what  you  have  already  chosen.  I  mean  to 
leave  it  wholly  in  your  hands ;  it  is  to  be  Susie's  choice 
of  my  writings. 

Don't  get  into  a  flurry  of  responsibility,  but  don't  at 
once  write  down  all  you  have  a  mind  to  ;  I  know  you'll 
find  a  good  deal !  for  you  are  exactly  in  sympathy  with 
me  in  all  things. 


Assist,  Wi  July,  1874. 
Your  lovely  letters  are  always  a  comfort  to  me ;  and 
not  least  when  you  tell  me  you  are  sad.  You  would,  be 
far  less  in  sympathy  with  me  if  you  were  not,  and  in 
the  "everything  right"  humour  of  some,  even  of  some 
really  good  and  kind  persons,  whose  own  matters  are  to 
*  "  Frondes  Agrestes." 


PROVIDENCE    AXD    PRAYER.  19 

their  miiid,  and  who  understand  by  "  Providence"  tlie 
power  which  particularly  takes  care  of  them.  This 
favouritism  which  goes  so  sweetly  and  pleasantly  down 
with  so  many  pious  people  is  the  chief  of  all  stumbling- 
blocks  io  me.  I  must  pray  for  everybody  or  nobody, 
and  carrt  get  into  any  conceptions  of  relation  between 
Heaven  and  me^  if  not  also  between  Heaven  and  earth, 
(and  why  Heaven  should  allow  hairs  in  pens  I  can't 
think). 

I  take  great  care  of  myself,  be  quite  sure  of  that, 
Susie ;  the  worst  of  it  is,  here  in  Assisi  everybody  else 
wants  me  to  take  care  of  them. 

Catharine  brought  rae  up  as  a  great  treat  yesterday 
at  dinner,  ham  dressed  with  as  much  garlic  as  could 
be  stewed  into  it,  and  a  plate  of  raw  figs,  telling  me 
I  was  to  eat  them  together  ! 

•  The  sun  is  changing  the  entire  mountains  of  Assisi 
into  a  hot  bottle  with  no  fiamiel  round  it ;  but  I  can't 
get  a  ripe  plum,  peach,  or  cherry.  All  the  milk  turns 
sour,  and  one  has  to  eat  one's  meat  at  its  toughesl  or 
the  thunder  gets  into  it  next  day. 


20  HOKTUS   II^CLUSUS. 

FOAM   OF    TIBER. 

Perugia,  \1lth  July. 

I  am  made  anxious  by  your  sweet  letter  of  the  6th 
saying  yon  have  been  ill  and  are  "  not  mnch  better." 

The  letter  is  all  like  yonrs,  but  I  suppose  however 
ill  yon  were  yon  would  always  write  prettily,  so  that's 
little  comfort. 

About  the  J^arcissus,  please.  I  want  them  for  my 
fishpond  stream  rather  than  for  the  bee  house  one.  The 
fishpond  stream  is  very  doleful,  and  wants  to  dance  with 
daffodils  if  they  would  come  and  teach  it.  How  happy 
we  are  in  our  native  streams !  A  thunderstorm  swelled 
the  Tiber  yesterday,  and  it  rolled  over  its  mill  weirs  in 
heaps,  literally,  of  tossed  water,  the  size  of  haycocks,  but 
black  brown  like  coffee  with  the  grounds  in  it,  mixed 
with  a  very  little  yellow  milk.  In  some  lights  the  foam 
flew  like  cast  handfuls  of  heavy  gravel.  The  chief  flow- 
ers here  are  only  broom  and  bindweed,  and  I  begin  to 
weary  for  my  heather  and  for  my  Susie  ;  but  oh  dear, 
the  ways  are  long  and  the  days  few. 


Ldcca,  29/7i  July. 
I'm  not  going  to  be  devoured  when  I  come,  by  any- 


FOAM    OF   TIBER..  21 

body,  unless  you  like  to.  T  shall  come  to  your  window 
witli  the  birds,  to  l)e  fed  myself. 

And  please  at  present  always  complain  to  me  when- 
ever you  like.  It  is  the  over-boisterous  cheerfulness  of 
common  people  that  hurts  me  ;  your  sadness  is  a  help 
to  me. 

You  shall  have  whatever  name  you  like  for  your  book 
provided  you  continue  to  like  it  after  thinking  over  it 
long  enough.  You  will  not  like  "  Gleanings,"  because 
you  know  that  one  only  gleans  refuse— dropped  ears — 
that  other  people  don't  care  for.  You  go  into  the  gar- 
den and  gather  with  choice  the  flowers  you  like  best. 
That  is  not  gleaning  ! 


Lucca,  lO^A  August. 
I  have  been  grieved  not  to  write  to  you ;  but  the 
number  of  things  that  vex  me  are  so  great  just  now,  that 
unless  by  false  effort  I  could  write  you  nothing  nice.  It 
is  very  dreadful  to  live  in  Italy,  and  more  dreadful  to  see 
one's  England  and  one's  English  friends,  all  but  a  fleld 
or  two,  and  a  stream  or  two,  and  a  one  Susie  a»id  one 
Dr.  Brown,  fast  becoming  like  Italy  and  the  Italians. 


22  HORTUS  INCLUSUS. 

I  have  too  much  sympathy  with  your  sorrow  to  write 
to  you  of  it.  What  I  have  not  sympathy  with,  is  your 
hope;  and  how  cruel  it  is  to  say  this  !  But  I  ara  driven 
more  and  more  to  think  there  is  to  be  no  more  good  for 
a  time,  but  a  reign  of  terror  of  men  and  the  elements 
alike ;  and  yet  it  is  so  like  what  is  foretold  before  the 
coming  of  the  Son  of  man  that  perhaps  in  the  extremest 
evil  of  it  I  may  some  day  read  the  sign  that  our  redemp- 
tion draws  nigh. 

]^ow,  Susie,  invent  a  nice  cluster  of  titles  for  the  book 
and  send  them  to  me  to  choose  from,  to  Hotel  de  I'Arno, 
Florence.  I  must  get  that  out  before  the  day  of  judg- 
ment, if  I  can.  I'm  so  glad  of  your  sweet  flatteries  in 
this  note  received  to-day. 


Florence,  2ht7i  August. 
I  have  not  been  able  to  write  to  you,  or  anyone  lately, 
whom  I  don't  want  to  tease,  except  Dr.  Brown,  whom  I 
write  to  for  counsel.  My  time  is  passed  in  a  fierce 
steady  struggle  to  save  all  I  can  every  day,  as  a  fireman 
from  a  smouldering  ruin,  of  history  or  aspect.  To-day, 
for  instance,  I've  been  just  in  time  to  ascertain  the  form 


DIES   IR^.  23 

of  the  cross  of  the  Emperor,  representing^  the  power  of 
the  State  in  the  greatest  political  fresco  of  okl  times — 
fourteenth  century.  By  next  year,  it  may  be  next 
month,  it  will  have  dropped  from  the  wall  with  the  vi- 
bration of  the  railway  outside,  and  be  touched  up  with 
new  o-ildino^  for  the  mob. 

I  am  keeping  well,  but  am  in  a  terrible  spell  (literally, 
"  spell,"  enchanted  maze,  that  I  can't  get  out  of)  of  work. 

I  was  a  little  scandalized  at  the  idea  of  your  calling 
the  book  "  word  painting."  My  dearest  Susie,  it  is  the 
chief  provocation  of  my  life  to  be  called  a  "  word 
painter"  instead  of  a  thinker.  I  hope  you  haven't  hlled 
your  book  with  descriptions.  I  thought  it  was  the 
thoughts  you  were  looking  for? 

''  Posie"  would  be  pretty.  If  you  ask  Joanie  she  will 
tell  you  ])erliaps  tt>o  pretty  for  rae^  and  I  can't  think  a 
])it  to-night,  for  instead  of  robins  singing  I  hear  only 
blaspheming  gamesters  on  the  other  side  of  the  narrow 
street. 


Florence,  \st  September. 
Don't  be  in  despair  about  your  book.     I  am  sure  it 
will  bjD  lovely.     I'll   see  t<»  it   the  moment    I   get  home, 


24  HORTUS   IIs^CLUSUS. 

but  Tve  got  into  an  entirely  unexpected  piece  of  busi- 
ness here,  the  interpretation  of  a  large  chapel  full  of 
misunderstood,  or  not  at  all  understood,  frescoes ;  and 
I'm  terribly  afraid  of  breaking  down,  so  nmch  drawing 
iias  to  be  done  at  the  same  time.  It  has  stranded  botany 
and  everything. 

I  was  kept  awake  half  of  last  night  by  drunken 
blackguards  howling  on  the  bridge  of  the  Holy  Trinity 
in  the  pure  half-moonlight.  This  is  the  kind  of  dis- 
cord I  have  to  bear,  corresponding  to  your  uncongenial 
company.  But,  alas!  Susie,  you  ought  at  ten  years 
old  to  have  more  firmness,  and  to  resolve  that  you 
won't  be  bored.  I  think  I  shall  try  to  enforce  it  on 
you  as  a  very  solemn  duty  not  to  lie  to  people  as  the 
vulgar  public  do.  If  they  bore  you,  say  so,  and  they'll 
go  away.     That  is  the   right  state  of  things. 

How  am  I  to  know  that  /  don't  bore  you,  when 
/  come,  when  you're  so  civil  to  people  you  hate? 


Pass  of  Bocchetta,  \st  Ocitber. 
4{.  *  ^  4f  *  * 

All  that  is  lovely   and   wonderful  in   the  Alps   may 


F0A;\I    of   TIBER.  25 

be  seen  without  the  slightest  danger,  in  general,  and 
it  is  especially  good  for  little  girls  of  eleven  who  ciin't 
climl),  to  know  tliis — all  the  best  viev/s  of  hills  are  at 
the  bottom  of  tlieni.  I  know  one  or  two  places  in- 
deed where  there  is  a  grand  peej)ing  over  precipices, 
one  or  two  where  the  mountain  vseclusion  and  strengtli 
are  woi'tli  clind)ing  to  see.  Bnt  all  the  entirely  beau- 
tiful things  1  could  show  you,  Susie;  only  for  the  very 
hiirhest  subhme  of  them  sometimes  askinsr  you  to  en- 
dure  half  an  hour  of  chaise  a  jportew\  but  mostly 
from  a  post-chaise  or  smoothest  of  turnpike  roads. 

But,  Susie,  do  you  know,  Tni  greatly  horrified  at 
the  penwipers  of  peacocks'  feathers!  /  always  use 
my  left-hand  coat  tail,  indeed,  and  if  only  I  were  a 
peacock  and  a  pet  of  yours,   how  yoird  scold  nie! 

Sun  just  coming  out  over  sea  (at  Sestri),  wliich  is 
siirhinfr  in  towards  tlie  ,windov»%  within  vonr  drive, 
round  before  the  doors  breadth  of  it,*  seen  between 
two  masses  of  acacia  copse  and  two  orange  trees  at 
the  side  of  the  inn  courtyard. 

*  That  is,   withiu  that  distauce  of  the  window. 


26  HORTUS  INCLUSUS. 

Geneva,  19t7i  October. 

How  I  have  been  neglecting  you !  Perhaps  Joanie 
may  have  told  you  that  just  at  my  last  gasp  of  hand- 
work, I  had  to  write  quite  an  unexpected  number  of 
letters.  But  poor  Joanie  will  think  herself  neglected 
now,  for  I  have  been  stopped  among  the  Alps  by  a 
state  of  their  glaciers  entirely  unexampled,  and  shall 
be  a  week  after  my  "latest  possible"  day,  in  getting 
home.  It  is  eleven  years  since  I  was  here,  and  very 
sad  to  me  to  return,  yet  delightful  with  a  moonlight 
paleness  of  tlie  past,  precious  of  its  kind. 

I  shall  be  at  home  with  Joan  in  ten  days  now, 
God  willing.  I  have  much  to  tell  you,  which  will 
give  you  pleasure  and  pain  ;  but  I  don't  know  how 
much  it  will  be — to  tell  you — for  a  little  while  yet,  so 
I  don't  begin. 


Oxford,  2Qt7i  October, 
Home   at  last  with  your  lovely,  most   lovely,  letter 

in  my  breast  pocket,  from  Joan's  all  tlie  way  here. 
I   am   so   very  grateful   to   you   for   not   writing   on 

black  paper. 


AVHARFE   I>^   FLOOD. 


Oh,  dear  Susie,  why  should  we  ever  wear  black  for 


the  guests  of  God? 


WHAKFE    IN    FLOOD. 

Bolton  Abbey, 

24:i?i  January,  1875. 

The  black  rain,  much  as  I  growled  at  it,  has  let  me 
see  Wharfe  in  flood ;  and  I  would  have  borne  many 
days  in  prison  to  see  that. 

Ko  one  need  go  to  the  Alps  to  see  wild  water. 
Seldom  unless  in  the  Rhine  or  Rhone  themselves  at 
tlieir  rapids,  have  I  seen  anything  much  grander.  An 
Alpine  stream,  besides,  nearly  always  has  its  bed  full 
of  loose  stones,  and  becomes  a  series  of  humps  and 
dumps  of  water  wherever  it  is  shallow  ;  while  the 
Wharfe  swe})t  round  its  curves  of  shore  like  a  black 
Damascus  sabre,  coiled  into  eddies  of  steel.  At  the 
Strid,  it  had  risen  eiglit  feet  vertical  since  yesterday, 
sheeting  the  flat  rocks  with  foam  from  side  to  side, 
while  the  treacherous  mid-channel  was  fllled  with  a 
succession  of  boiling  domes  of  water,  charged  through 
and  thruugh  with  churning  white,  and  ruUing  out  into 


28  HORTUS   IKCLUSUS. 

the  broader  stream,  each  like  a  vast  sea  wave  bursting 
on  a  beach. 

There  is  something  in  the  soft  and  comparatively 
unbroken  slopes  of  these  Yorkshire  shales  which  must 
give  the  water  a  peculiar  sweeping  power,  for  I  have 
seen  Taj  and  Tummel  and  Ness,  and  many  a  big 
stream  besides,  savage  enough,  but  I  don't  remember 
anything  so  grim  as  this. 

I  came  home  to  quiet  tea  and  a  black  kitten  called 
Sweep,  who  kipped  half  my  cream  jugful  (and  yet 
I  had  plenty)  sitting  on  my  shoulder, — and  Life  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott.  I  was  reading  his  great  Scottish 
history  tour,  when  he  was  twenty-three,  and  got  his 
materials  for  everything  nearly,  but  especially  for 
Waverley,  though  not  used  till  long  afterwards. 

Do  you  recollect  Gibbie  Gellatly  ?  I  was  thinking 
over  that  question  of  yours,  "What  did  I  think?"- 
But,  my  dear  Susie,  you  might  as  well  ask  Gibbie 
Gellatly  what  he  thought.  What  does  it  matter  what 
any  of  us  think?  We  are  but  simpletons,  the  best 
of  us,  and  I  am  a  very  inconsistent  and  wayward 
simpleton.  I  know  how  to  roast  eggs,  in  the  ashes, 
*  Of  the  things  thnt  shnll  be,  liereafter. 


perhaps — but  for  tlie  next  world  ?  Wlij  don't  yon  ask 
your  squiri'ol  wluit  lit',  tln'riks  too?  The  c^-reat  point — 
the  one  for  all  of  us — is,  not  to  take  false  words  in 
our  mouths,  and  to  ei'ack  our  nuts  innocently  through 
winter  and  rough  weather. 

I  shall  post  this  to  niori-ow  as  1  pass  through  Skip- 
ton  or  any  post-worthy  })lac'e  on  my  way  to  AVakefield. 
Write  to  Warwick.  Oh  me,  what  places  England  had, 
when  she  was  herself!  Now.  rail  stations  mostly.  But 
I  never  can  make  out  how  Warwick  Castle  got  built 
by  that  dull  bit  of  river. 


FRONDES." 


Wakefikld.  2o/7i  January,  1875. 

Here's  our  book  in  form  at  last,  and  it  seems  to  me 
just  a  nice  size,  and  on  the  whole  xQvy  taking.  Tve 
put  a  touch  or  two  more  to  the  preface,  and  I'm  sadly 
afraid  there's  a  naughty  note  somewhere.  I  hope  yoii 
wcjn't  find  it,  and  that  you  will  like  the  order  the  things 
are  i)ut  in. 

Such  ill  roads  as  we  came  over  to-day,  I  never  thought 
to  see  in  England. 


30  SORTUS   IKCLUSUS. 

Castleton,  2Qth  January,  1875. 

Here  I  have  your  long  dear  letter.  I  am  very  thank- 
ful I  can  be  so  much  to  jou.  Of  all  the  people  I  have 
yet  known,  you  are  the  only  one  I  can  find  complete 
sympathy  in ;  you  are  so  nice  and  young  without  the 
hardness  of  youth,  and  may  be  the  best  of  sisters  to  me. 
I  am  not  so  sure  about  letting  you  be  an  elder  one  ;  I 
am  not  going  to  be  lectured  when  I'm  naughty. 

I've  been  so  busy  at  wasps  all  day  coming  along, 
having  got  a  nice  book  about  them.  It  tells  me,  too, 
of  a  delightful  German  doctor  who  kept  tame  hornets, — 
a  whole  nest  in  his  study !  They  knew  him  perfectly, 
and  would  let  him  do  anything  with  them,  even  pull  bits 
off  their  nest  to  look  in  at  it. 

Wasps,  too,  my  author  says,  are  really  much  more 
amiable  than  bees,  and  never  get  angry  without  cause. 
All  the  same,  they  have  a  tiresome  way  of  inspecting 
one.  too  closely,  sometimes,  I  think. 

I'm  immensely  struck  with  the  Peak  Cavern,  but  it 
was  in  twilight. 

I'm  going  to  stay  here  all  to-morrow,  the  place  is  so 
entirely   unspoiled.      I've    not    seen  such  a    primitive 


WAS?  STIjSCtS. 


village,  rock,  or  stream,  tin's  twenty  years;  Langdale  is 
as  sophisticated  as  Pall  Mall  in  comparison. 


Alas,  I've  other  letters  to  write! 


WASP   STINGS. 

Bolton  Bridge,  Saturday. 

I  never  was  more  thankful  than  for  yonr  sweet  note, 
being  stopped  here  by  bad  weather  again  ;  the  worst  of 
posting  is  that  one  has  to  think  of  one's  servant  outside, 
and  so  lose  a  day. 

It  was  bitter  w^ind  and  snow  this  morning,  too  bad  to 
send  any  human  creature  to  sit  idle  in.  Black  enough 
still,  and  I  more  than  usual,  because  it  is  just  that  point 
of  distinction  from  brutes  which  I  truly  say  is  our  only 
one,"^  of  which  I  have  now  so  little  hold. 

The  bee  Fors  f  will  be  got  quickly  into  proof,  but  I 
must  add  a  good  deal  to  it.  I  can't  get  into  good 
humour  for  natural  history  in  this  weather. 

I've  got  a  good   l)0()k  on   wasps  which   says   they  are 

our  chief  protectors  against  Hies.     In   Cumberland  the 

*  I've  forgotten  wliat  it  was,  and  don't  feel  now  as  if  I  had  'got 
bold  '  of  any  one. 

f  See  "  Fors  Clavigera,"  Letter  LL 


32  HORTUS   II^CLUSUS. 

wet  cold  spring  is  so  bad  for  tlie  wasps  tliat  I  partly 
think  tliis  may  be  so,  and  the  terrible  plague  of  ilies  in 
August  might  perhaps  be  checked  by  our  teaching  our 
little  Agneses  to  keep  wasps'  nests  instead  of  bees. 

Yes,  that  is  a  pretty  bit  of  mine  about  Handet,  and 
I  think  I  must  surely  be  a  little  pathetic  sometimes, 
in  a  doggish  way. 

"You're  so  dreadfully  faithful !"  said  Arthur  Severn 
to  me,  fretting  over  the  way  I  was  being  ill  treated  the 
other   day  by  R. 

Oh  dear,  I  wish  I  were  at  Brantwood  again,  now, 
and  could  send  you  my  wasp  book  !  It  is  pathetic, 
and  yet  so  dreadful, — the  wasp  bringing  in  the  cater- 
pillar for  its  young  wasp,  stinging  each  enough  to 
paralyse  but  not  to  kill,  and  so  laying  them  up  in  the 
cupboard. 

I  wonder  how  the  clergymen's  wives  will  feel  after 
the  next  Fors  or  two !  I've  done  a  bit  to-day  which  1 
think  will  go  in  with  a  shiver.  Do  you  recollect  the 
curious  tlmll  there  is — the  cold  tingle  of  the  pang  of 
a  nice  deep  wasp  sting? 

Well,  I'm  not  in  a  fit  temper  to  write  to  Susie  to- 
day, clearly. 


BOLTOX   STRID.  33 

BOLTON    STRID. 

I  stopped  here  to  see  tlie  Strid  again — not  seen 
these  many  years.  It  is  curious  tliat  life  is  em])ittered 
to  rae,  now,  by  its  former  pleasantness ;  while  you  have 
of  these  same  places  painful  recollections,  but  you 
could  enjoy  them  now  with  yonr  wliole  heart. 

Instead  of  the  drive  with  the  poor  overlaboured  one 
horse  through  the  long  wet  day,  here,  when  I  was  a 
youth,  my  father  and  mother  brought  mo,  and  let  me 
sketch  in  the  Abbey  and  ramble  in  tlie  woods  as  I 
chose,  only  demanding  promise  that  I  should  not  go 
near  the  Strid.  Pleasant  drives,  with,  on  the  whole, 
well  paid  and  pleased  drivers,  never  with  overburdened 
cattle  ;  cheerful  dinner  or  tea  waiting  for  me  always, 
on  my  return  froui  solitary  rambles.  Everything  right 
and  good  for  me,  except  only  that  they  never  put  me 
through  any  trials  Xo  harden  me,  or  give  me  decision 
of  character,  or  make  me  feel  how  much  they  did  for 
me. 

But  that  error  was  a  fearful  one,  and  cost  them  and 
iiic,  Heaven  only  knows  how  much.  And  now,  I  walk 
to  Strid,  and  Abbey,  and  everywhere,  with  the  ghosts 
of  the  past  days  haunting  me,  and   other  darker  spirits; 


34  HORTUS   INCLUSUS. 

of  sorrow  and  remorse  and  wonder.  Black  spirits 
among  the  gi'ej,  all  like  a  mist  between  me  and  the 
green  woods.  And  I  feel  like  a  caterpillar, — stimgy^^^ 
enough.  Foul  weather  and  mist  enough,  of  quite  a  real 
kind  besides.  An  hour's  sunshine  to-daj,  broken  up 
speedily,  and  now  veiled  utterly. 


Herne  Hill,  London, 

Will  February,  1875. 

I  have  your  sweet  letter  with  news  of  Dr.  John  and 
his  brother.  1  have  been  working  on  the  book  to-day 
very  hard,  after  much  interruption ;  it  is  two-thirds 
done  now.     So  glad  people  are  on  tiptoe. 

Paddocks  are  frogs,  not  toads  in  that  grace."^  And 
why  should  not  people  smile  ?  Do  you  think  that  God 
does  not  like  smiling  graces  ?  He  only  dislikes  frowns. 
But  you  know  when  once  habitual,  the  child  would  De 
told  on  a  cold  day  to  say  ''  Cold  as  paddocks ;"  and 
everybody  would  know  what  was  coming.  Finally  the 
deep  under-meaning,  that  as  the  cold  hand  is  lifted,  so 
also  tLe  cold  heart,  and  yet  accepted,  makes  it  one  of 
the  prettiest  little  hymns  I  know. 

*  Heirick's.     See  "  Fors  Clavigera,"  Letter  XLIII. 


BOLTOX   STRID.  35 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  very  apposite  to  my  work  these 
two  feathers  are.  1  am  just  going  to  dwell  on  the  ex- 
quisite result  of  the  division  into  successive  leaves,  by 
which  nature  obtains  the  glittering  look  to  set  off  her 
colour ;  and  you  just  send  me  two  feathers  which  have 
it  more  in  perfection  than  any  I  ever  saw,  and  I  think 
are  more  vivid  in  colour. 

How  these  boys  must  tease  you!  but  you  will  be  re- 
warded in  the  world  that  good  Susies  go  to. 

You  must  show  me  the  drawing  of  the  grebe.  The 
moss  is  getting  on. 


Venice,  12t7i  September,  1876. 

I  must  just  say  how  thankful  it  makes  me  to  hear 
of  this  true  gentleness  of  English  gentlewomen  in  the 
midst  of  the  vice  and  cruelty  in  which  I  am  forced  to 
live  here,  where  oppression  on  one  side  and  license  on 
the  other  rage  as  two  war-wolves  in  continual  havoc. 

It  is  very  characteristic  of  fallen  Venice,  as  of  modern 
Europe,  that  here  in  the  ])rincipal  rooms  of  one  of  the 
chief  palaces  in  the  very  headmost  sweep  of  thi'Ciiand 
Canal  there  is  not  a  room  for  a  servant  fit  to  keep  a  cat 
or  a  dog  in  (as  Susie  would  keep  cat  or  dog,  at  least). 


36  HOETUS   II^CLUSUS. 

Venice,  ISth  September. 
I  never  knew  such  a  fight  as  the  good  and  wicked 
fairies  are  liaving  over  my  poor  body  and  spirit  just  now. 
The  good  fairies  have  got  down  the  St.  Ursula  for  me 
and  given  her  to  me  all  to  myself,  and  sent  me  tine 
weather  and  nice  gondoliers,  and  a  good  cook,  and  a 
pleasant  waiter ;  and  the  bad  fairies  keep  putting  every- 
thing upside  down,  and  putting  black  in  my  box  when  I 
want  white,  and  making  me  forget  all  I  want,  and  find 
all  I  don't,  and  making  the  hinges  come  off  my  boards, 
and  the  leaves  out  of  my  books,  and  driving  me  as  wild 
as  wild  can  be  ;  but  I'm  gottlng  something  done  in  spite 
of  them,  only  I  never  can  get  my  letters  written. 


Venice,  September  29th. 

I  have  woful  letters  telling  me  you  also  were  woful  in 
saying  good-bye.  My  darling  Susie,  what  is  the  use  of 
your  being  so  good  and  dear  if  you  can't  enjoy  thinking 
of  lieaven,  and  what  fine  goings  on  we  shall  all  have 
there  ? 

All  the  same,  even  when  I'm  at  my  very  piousest,  it 
puts  me  out  if  my  drawings  go  wrong.     I'm  going  to 


ST.    URSULA.  37 

draw  St.  Ursiila^s  blue  slippers  to-day,  and  if  I  ean't  do 
them  nicely  shall  be  in  great  despair.  I've  just  found  a 
little  cunning  inscription  on  her  bedpost,  '  IN  FANN- 
TIA.'  The  double  N  puzzled  me  at  first,  but  Carpaccio 
spells  anyhow.  My  head  is  not  good  enough  for  a  bed- 
post. .  .  .  Oh  me,  the  sweet  Grange! — Thwaite,  I 
mean  (bedpost  again) ;  to  think  of  it  in  this  mass  of 
weeds  and  ruin ! 


ST.    URSULA. 

Venice,  13^^  N'ovemher. 
I  have  to-day  yonr  dear  little  note,  and  have  desired 
Joan  to  send  you  one  just  written  to  her,  in  which  I 
have  given  some  account  of  myself,  that  may  partly  in- 
terest, partly  win  your  pardon  for  apparent  neglect. 
Coming  here,  after  practically  an  interval  of  twenty- four 
years, — for  I  have  not  seriously  looked  at  anything  dur- 
ing the  two  hurried  visits  with  Joan, — my  old  unfinished 
work,  and  the  pofys^bilities  of  its  bette-r  oom])letion,  i-ise 
grievously  and  beguilingly  before  nie,  and  I  have  been 
stretching  my  hands  to  the  shadow  of  old  designs  and 
striving  to  fulfil  shortcomings,  always  painful  to  me,  but 
now,  for  the  moment,  intolerable. 


38  HORTUS   II^CLUSUS. 

I  am  also  approaching  the  close  of  the  sixth  year  of 
Fors,  and  Imve  plans  for  the  Sabbatical  year  of  it,  which 
make  my  thoughts  active  and  troubled.  I  am  drawing 
much,  and  have  got  a  study  of  St.  Ursula  which  will  give 
you  pleasure ;  but  the  pain  of  being  separate  from  my 
friends  and  of  knowing  they  miss  me  !  I  wonder  if  you 
will  think  you  are  making  me  too  vain,  Susie.  Such 
vanity  is  a  very  painful  one,  for  I  know  that  you  look 
out  of  the  window  on  Sundays  now,  wistfully,  for  Joan's 
handkerchief.  This  pain  seems  always  at  my  heart, 
with  the  other  which  is  its  own. 

I  am  thankful,  always,  you  like  St.  Ursula.  One 
quite  fixed  plan  for  the  last  year  of  Fors,  is  that  there 
shall  be  absolutely  no  abuse  or  controversy  in  it,  but 
things  which  will  either  give  pleasure  or  help  ;  and  some 
clear  statements  of  principle,  in  language  as  temperate  as 
hitherto  violent ;  to  show,  for  one  thing,  that  the  vio- 
lence was  not  for  want  of  self-command. 

I'm  going  to  have  a  good  fling  at  the  Bishops  in  next 
Fors  to  finish  with,  and  then  for  January  ! — only  I 
mustn't  be  too  good,  Susie,  or  something  would  happen 
to  me.  So  I  shall  say  naughty  things  still,  but  in  the 
mildest  way. 


ST.  mark's  doyes.  39 

I  am  very  grateful  to  you  for  that  comparison  about 
my  mind  being  as  crisp  as  a  lettuce.  I  am  so  thankful 
you  can  feel  that  still.  I  was  beginning  to  doubt^  my- 
self. 


ST.    MAEk's    DOYESc 


Venice,  2nd  December. 
I  have  been  very  dismal  lately.  I  hope  the  next  cap- 
tain of  St.  George's  Company  will  be  a  merrier  one  and 
happier,  in  being  of  use.  I  am  inherently  selfish,  and 
don't  enjoy  being  of  use.  I  enjoy  painting  and  picking 
up  stones  and  flirting  with  Susies  and  Kathleens;  it's 
very  odd  that  I  never  much  care  to  flirt  with  any  but  lit- 
tle girls !  And  here  I've  no  Susies  nor  Kathleens  nor 
Diddles,  and  I'm  only  doing  lots  of  good,  and  I'm  very 
miserable.  I've  been  going  late  to  bed  too.  I  picked 
myself  up  last  night  and  went  to  bed  at  nine,  and  feel 
cheerful  enough  to  ask  Susie  how  she  does,  and  send  her 
love  from  St.  Mark's  doves.  They're  really  tiresome 
now,  amonir  one's  feet  in  St.  Mark's  Place,  and  I  don't 
know  what  it  will  come  to.  In  old  times,  wlicn  there 
were  not  so  many  idlers  about,  the  doves  were  used  to 


'i      IISCi->.  5^-  2fc 


itbuSk  eke  Gi>v^r&]Bi£QiC  and  "^kut  do-res  ^ '  ^'~  sdr  dE  one 
jjoEfr  feoac&i^  t&enft  ;  and  I  wko  wslk  ik^  ^  ^    1^5  ex- 

|ieel^i^  tD  litsad  cm  t&eiBy  aad  itf  $  a  Btr  - 

If  I  onlipkad  tne  Iw«fidd  Mb  cznVf   ::  .1 

5Pag»lfe»  wfe  vcmM  be  qpsle  Eke   :   _t^  _  - 

il-i  <m1t oep  fiB  oH^s  bolecwiT.     I-   -_tt  —t-t 
Ib^  <if  trvA  JB  DDwiiBsn^  Tc:„.c 


*ie  ft  csicieai  Ihde  cMn^. 


Mj  mo-nl':  "i"! ■'"'-_'  "    '   '111   Th^if^e  enmuit 

jefitj.  J  :>G  esLn'r                 .  -  z  li^  iiie  kaisc  taiie  of 

aanjTLiL^  •:-!  -  These  wieldies 

«€  Ve!ieT~An.-^  ^i'             .  -                       "r  ri»o  taste 


See  •  Fcr*  Clarrirera,    L^,:jrr  LXXXEI. 


ST.  mark's  rest.  41 

The  little  drawing  (returned)  is  nice  in  colour  nnd 
feeling,  but,  which  surprises  me,  not  at  all  iiitclligoiit 
ill  line.  It  is  not  weakness  of  hand  but  fault  of  per- 
spective instinct,  which  spoils  so  many  othei'wise  good 
botanical  drawings. 

Bright  morning.  Sickle  moon  just  hiding  in  a  red 
cloud,  and  the  morning  stars  just  vanished  in  light. 
But  we've  had  nearly  three  weeks  of  dark  weather,  so 
we  mustn't  think  it  poor  Coniston's  fault — though  Con- 
iston  has  faults.  Poor  little  Susie,  it  shan't  have  any 
more  nasty  messages  to  carry. 


ST.  mark's  rest. 


23 r^  January,  1877. 

I've  caught  cold  and  can  think  of  nothing  to  do  me 
good  hilt  making  you  miserable  by  telling  you  so. 

It's  not  a  very  bad  one.  And  it's  a  wonder  I've  got 
so  far  through  the  winter  without  any. 

Things  have  gone  very  well  tor  me,  hitherto,  but  I 
have  been  depressed    by   hearing  of   my  poor   Kate's  "^ 

*  Then,  my  Lead  servant;  now  I\;ite  KMven,  of  CouistOD. 


42  HORTUS  IN-CLUSUS. 

illness;  and  can't  think  of  Brantwood  with  any  com- 
fort, so  I  come  across  the  lake  to  the  Thwaite. 

A  great  many  lovely  things  happened  to  me  this 
Christmas,  but  if  I  were  to  tell  Susie  of  them  I  am 
sure  she  would  be  frightened  out  of  her  bright  little 
wits,  and  think  I  was  going  to  be  a  Roman  Catholic. 
I'm  writing  such  a  Catholic  history  of  Venice,  and 
chiselling  all  the  Protestantism  off  the  old  "  Stones"  as 
they  do  here  the  grass  off  steps. 

All  the  pigeons  of  St.  Mark's  Place  send  you  their 
love.  St.  Ursula  adds  hers  to  the  eleven  thousand 
birds'  love.  And  the  darlingest  old  Pope  who  went 
a  pilgrimage  with  her,  hopes  you  won't  be  too  much 
shocked  if  he  sends  his  too !  (If  you're  not  shocked,  / 
am !) 

My  new  Catholic  history  of  Venice  is  to  be  called 
"  St.  Mark's  Rest." 


27^A  January. 

Joanie  tells  me   you  are  writing  her  such  sad  little 

letters.     How  can  it  be  that  anyone  so  good  and  true 

as  my  Susie  should  be  sad  ?     I  am  sad,  bitterly  enough 

and  often,  but  only  with  sense  of  fault  and  folly  and 


SAINTS  AND   FLOWEllS.  43 

lost  opportunity  such  as  you  have  never  fallen  into  or 
lost.  It  is  very  cruel  of  Fate,  I  think,  to  make  us  sad, 
who  would  fain  see  everybody  cheerful,  and  (cruel  of 
Fate  too)  to  make  so  many  cheerful  who  make  others 
wretched.  The  little  history  of  Venice  is  well  on,  and 
will  be  clear  and  interesting,  I  think, — more  than  most 
histories  of  anything.  And  the  stories  of  saints  and 
nice  people  w411  be  plenty.  Oh  me,  I  wonder,  Susie 
dear,  whether  you  and  I  are  saints,  or  what  we  are. 
You  know  you're  really  a  little  wicked  sometimes  as 
well  as  me,  aren't  you. 

Such  moonlight  as  there  is  to-night,  but  nothing  to 
what  it  is  at  Coniston  !  It  makes  the  lagoon  water 
look  brown  instead  of  green,  which  I  never  noticed 
before. 


SAINTS   AND   FLOWERS. 

Venice,  IKth  February. 

It  is  very  grievous  to  me  to  hear  of  your  being  in 

that   wofnl   weather  while    I   have   two   days'   sunshine 

out  of  three,  and  stai-light  or  moonlight  always  ;  to  day 

the  w^hole  chain  of  the  A1])S  from  Vicenza  to  Trieste 


44  SORTTTS  Il^CLtJSUS. 

shining  cloudless  all  day  long,  and  the  seagulls  floati^ng 
high  in  the  blue,  like  little  dazzling  boys'  kites. 

Yes,  St.  Francis  would  have  been  greatly  pleased  with 
you  watching  pussy  drink  your  milk;  so  would  St. 
Theodore,  as  you  will  see  by  next  Fors,  which  I  have 
ordered  to  be  sent  you  in  first  proof,  for  I  am  eager  that 
you  should  have  it.  What  w^onderful  flowers  these 
pinks  of  St.  Ursula's  are,  for  life !  They  seem  to  bloom 
like  everlastings. 

I  get  my  first  rosebud  and  violets  of  this  year  from 
St.  Helena's  Island  to-day.  How  I  begin  to  pity  people 
who  have  no  saints  to  be  good  to  them  !  Who  is  yours 
at  ConistoB  ?  There  must  have  been  some  in  the 
country  once  upon  a  time. 

With  their  help  I  am  really  getting  well  on  with  my 
history  and  drawing,  and  hope  for  a  sweet  time  at  home 
in  the  heathery  days,  and  many  a  nice  afternoon  tea  at 
the  Thwaite. 


Venice,  8th  March. 
That  is  entirely  new  and  wonderful  to  me  about  the 
singing  mouse.*     Douglas  (was  it  the  Douglas  ?)  saying 

*  A  pleasant  story  that  a  friend  sent  me  from  France.    The  mouse 


PROFESSORSHIP*.  46 

"lie  had  rather  hear  the  lark  sing  than  the  mouse 
squeak"  needs  revision.  It  is  a  marvellous  fact  in  nat- 
ui'al  history. 

The  wind  is  singing  a  wild  tune  to-night — cannot  be 
colder  on  our  own  heaths — and  the  waves  dash  like  our 
Waterhead.  Oh  me,  when  I'm  walking  round  it  again 
how  like  a  sad  dream  all  this  Venice  will  be  ! 


Oxford,  2nd  December. 
1  write  first  to  jou  this  morning  to  tell  you  that  I 
gave  yesterday  the  twelfth  and  last  of  my  course  of 
lectures  this  term,  to  a  room  crowded  by  six  hundred 
people,  two-thirds  members  of  the  University,  aud  with 
its  door  wedged  open  by  those  who  could  not  get  in  ; 
this  interest  of  theirs  being  granted  to  me,  I  doubt  not, 
because  for  the  first  time  in  Oxford,  I  have  been  able  to 
speak  to  them  boldly  of  immortal  life.  I  intended  when 
I  began  the  course  only  to  have  read  ''  Modern  Painters" 
to  them  ;  but  when  I  began,  some  of  your  favourite  bits 

often  came  into  their  sitting-room'  and  actually  sang  to  them,  the 
notes  being  a  little  like  a  canary's. — S.  B. 


46  HORTUS  IKCLUSUS, 

interested  the  men  so  much,  and  brought  so  much 
larger  a  proportion  of  undergraduates  than  usual,  that 
I  took  pains  to  re-inforce  and  press  them  home ;  and 
people  saj  I  have  never  given  so  useful  a  course  jet. 
But  it  has  taken  all  my  time  and  strength,  and  I  have 
not  been  able  even  to  tell  Susie  a  word  about  it  until 
now.  In  one  of  my  lectures  I  made  my  text  your 
pretty  peacock  and  the  design"^  of  him.  But  did  not 
venture  to  say,  what  really  must  be  true,  that  his  voice 
is  an  example  of  "the  Devil  sowed  tares,"  and  of  the 
angels  letting  both  grow  together.  Joanie  was  "  wae"  to 
leave  Brantwood  and  you  (and  between  you  and  me  her 
letters  have  been  so  dull  ever  since,  that  I  think  slie  has 
left  her  wits  as  well  as  her  heart  with  you).  I  am  going 
to  see  her  on  Monday  week,  the  10th,  and  shall  start 
from  home  about  the  20th,  undertaking  (D.Y.),  at  all 
events,  to  come  on  Christmas  morning  to  your  ever  kind- 
ly opening  door. 

Love  to  Mary,  and  cousin  Mary ;  how  happy  it  is  for 
me  you  are  all  so  nice ! 

My  grateful  compliments  to  the  peacock.  And  little 
*  Decorative  art  of  his  plumage. 


DE   PROFUXDIS.  47 

(but  warm)  loves  to  all  your  little  birds.  And  best  of 
little  loves  to  the  squirrels,  only  you  must  send  them  in 
dream- words,  I  suppose,  up  to  tbeir  nests. 


Herne  Hill, 

Sunday,  \Wi  December. 
It  is  a  long  while  since  I've  felt  so  good  for  nothing  as 
I  do  this  morning.  My  very  wristbands  curl  up  in  a 
dog's-eared  and  disconsolate  manner ;  my  little  room  is 
all  a  heap  of  disorder.  I've  got  a  hoarseness  and 
wheezing  and  sneezing  and  coughing  and  choking.  I 
can't  speak  and  I  can't  think.  I'm  miserable  in  bed  and 
useless  out  of  it ;  and  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  could  never 
venture  to  open  a  window  or  go  ont  of  a  door  any  more. 
I  have  the  dimmest  sort  of  diabolical  pleasure  in  think- 
ing how  miserable  I  shall  make  Susie  by  telling  her  all 
this;  but  in  other  respects  I  seem  entirely  devoid  of  all 
moral  sentiments.  I  have  arrived  at  this  state  of  things, 
first  by  catching  cold,  and  since  by  trying  to ''amuse 
myself"  for  three  days.  I  tried  to  read  "Pickwick," 
but  found    that  vulgar,  and,  besides,  I  know  it  all  by 


48       %  HORTUS   IJTCLUSUS. 

heart.  I  sent  from  town  for  some  cliivalric  romances, 
but  found  them  immeasurably  stupid.  I  made  Baxter 
read  me  the  Daily  Telegraph,,  and  found  that  the  Home 
Secretary  had  been  making  an  absurd  speech  about  art, 
without  any  consciousness  that  snch  a  person  as  I  had 
ever  existed.  1  read  a  lot  of  games  of  chess  out  of  Mr. 
Staunton's  handbook,  and  couldn't  understand  any  of 
them.  I  analysed  the  Dock  Company's  bill  of  charges 
on  a  box  from  Venice,  and  sent  them  an  examination 
paper  on  it.  I  think  that  did  amuse  me  a  little,  but 
the  account  doesn't.  £1  8^.  Qd.  for  bringing  a  box  two 
feet  square  from  the  Tower  Wharf  to  here!  But  the 
worst  of  all  is,  that  the  doctor  keeps  me  shut  up  here, 
and  I  can't  get  my  business  done ;  and  now  there  isn't 
the  least  chance  of  my  getting  down  to  Brantwood  for 
Christmas,  nor,  as  far  as  i  can  see,  for  a  fortnight  after 
it.  There's  perhaps  a  little  of  the  diabolical  enjoyment 
again  in  that  estimate  ;  but  really  the  days  do  go,  more 
like  dew  shaken  off  branches  than  real  sun  risings  and 
settings.  But  I'll  send  you  word  every  day  now  for  a 
little  while  how  things  are  going  on. 


''^IX    QUIRES    AXD    PLACES    WHERE   TTIHY    SIXG/'       49 

Corpus  Christi  College,  Oxford. 

26th  December. 

I  don't  know  really  whether  I  ought  to  be  at   Brant- 
wood    or   here   on    Christmas.      Yesterday    I   had    two 
lovely  services  in  my  own   cathedral.      Yon  know  the 
cathedral  of    Oxford    is   the  chapel  of   Christ   Church 
College,  and   I  have  my  own  high  seat  in  the  chancel, 
as  an  honorary  student,  besides  being  bred  there,   and 
so  one  is  ever  so  proud  and  ever  so  pious  all  at  once, 
which  is  ever  so  nice,   yon  know  ;  and    my  own  dean, 
that's  the  Dean    of    Christ's  Church,  who   is  as  big  as 
any   bishop,  read  the  services,    and  the  psalms  and  an- 
thems  were    lovely ;    and    then    I    dined    with    Henrv 
Acland  and  his  family,  where  I  am  an  adopted  son, — 
all   the    more  wanted   yesterday   because   the   favourite 
son  Herbert  died  this  3'ear  in   Ceylon, — the  first   death 
out   of  seven  sons.       So   they    were  glad  to    have  me. 
Then   I've  all   my  Turners   here,  and  shall  really  enjoy 
myself  a  little  to-day,  1  think;  but    I  do   wish  1  could 
be  at  Brnntwood   too. 

Oil  dear,  I've  scril>bled  tliis  dreadfully.  Can  you 
really  read  my  scribble,  Susie?  Love,  you  may  always 
read,  however  scribbled. 


50  HOKTUS  I]S^CLUSUS. 

Oxford,  21ih  December. 

Yes,  I  really  think  that  must  be  the  way  of  it.  I  am 
wholly  cattish  in  that  love  of  teasing.  How  dehghted 
I  used  to  be  if  Rosie  would  ever  condescend  to  be  the 
least  bit  jealous! 

By  the  way,  what  a  shame  it  is  that  we  keep  that 
word  in  the  second  commandment,  as  if  it  meant  that 
God  was  jealous  of  images.  It  means  burning,  zealous 
or  full  of  life,  visiting,  etc.,  i.e.^  necessarily  when  leaving 
the  father  leaving  the  child  ;  necessarily,  when  giving 
the  father  life,  giving  life  to  the  child,  and  to  thousands 
of  the  race  of  them  that  love  me. 

It  is  very  comic  the  way  people  have  of  being  so 
particular  about  the  second  and  fourth  commandments, 
and  breaking  all  the  rest  with  the  greatest  comfort. 
For  me,  I  try  to  keep  all  the  rest  rather  carefully,  and 
let  the  second  and  fourth  take  care  of  themselves. 

Cold  quite  gone;  now  it's  your  tnrn,  Susie.  I've  got 
a  love  letter  in  Chinese,  and  can't  read  it ! 


WmDSOR  Castle, 

'^nd  January,  1878. 
I'm  horribly  sulky  this  morning,  for  I  expected  to 


UNWRITTEN   BOOKS.  51 

have  a  room  with  a  view,  if  the  room  was  ever  so  little, 
and  I've  got  a  great  big  one  looking  into  the  Castle 
yard,  and  I  feel  exactly  as  if  I  was  in  a  big  modern 
county  gaol  with  beautiful  turrets  of  modern  Gothic. 

1  came  to  see  Prince  Leopold,  who  has  been  a  pris- 
oner to  his  sofa  lately,  but  I  trust  he  is  better  ;  he  is 
very  bright  and  gentle,  under  severe  and  almost  con- 
tinual pain.  My  dear  little  Susie,  about  that  rhenma- 
tism  of  yours '^  If  it  wasn't  for  that,  how  happy  we 
both  onght  to  be,  living  in  Thwaites  and  woods,  instead 
of  nasty  castles !  Well,  about  that  Shakespeare  guide  '^ 
I  cannot,  cannot,  at  all  fancy  what  it  is.  In  and  ont 
among  the  stars ;  it  sounds  hke  a  plan  for  stringing  the 
stars.     I  am  so  very  glad  yon  told  me  of  it. 

"  Unwritten  books  in  my  brain  ?"  ,  Yes,  but  also  in 
how  many  other  brains  of  quiet  people,  books  unthought 
of,  "  In  the  Book  and  Volume"  which  will  be  read 
some  day  in  Heaven,  alond,  "  AVhen  saw  we  thee?" 
Yes,  and  "When  read  we  ourselves?" 

My  dear  Susie,  if  I  were  to  think  really  lost^  what 
you  for  instance  have  new  foun;!  in  your  own  j)i)wcrs 
of  receiving  an^l  iriving  pleasure,  the  beautiful  facul- 
ties you  have,  scarcely  venturing  even  to  show  the  con-^ 


52  HOKXrS   INCLUSUS. 

sciousness  of  them,  when  it  awates  in  you,  what  a 
wofiil  conception  I  should  have  of  God's  not  caring 
for  us.     He  will  gather  all  the  wheat  into  His  garner. 


Ingleton, 

11th  January. 

It's  a  charming  post  here,  and  brings  me  my  letters 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning;  and  I  took  care  to  tell 
nobody  where  I  was  going,  except  people  I  wanted  to 
hear  from.  What  a  little  busy  bee  of  a  Susie  you've 
been  to  get  all  those  extracts  ready  by  this  time.  I've 
got  nothing  done  all  the  while  I've  been  away,  but  a 
few  mathematical  figures,  and  the  less  I  do  the  less  I 
find  I  can  do  it ;  and  yesterday,  for  the  first  time  these 
twenty  years  at  least,  I  hadn't  so  much  as  a  "plan"  in 
my  head  all  day.  But  I  had  a  lot  to  look  at  in  the 
moorland  flowers  and  quiet  little  ancient  Yorkshire 
farmhouses,  not  to  speak  of  Ingleborough,  who  was,  I 
think,  a  little  depressed  because  he  knew  you  were 
only  going  to  send  your  remembrances  and  not  your 
love  to  him.  Tlie  clouds  gathered  on  his  l)rovv  occa- 
sionally in  a  fretful  manner,   but  towards  evening  he 


IXGLEBOROron.  53 

resumed  his  peace  of  mind  imd  sends  you  Lis  "  remem- 
brances" and  his  ''  blessing."  I  believe  he  saves  both 
yon  and   me  from  a  great  deal  of  east  wind. 

Well,  I've  got  a  plan  in  my  hea.d  this  morning  for 
the  new  extracts.  Shall  we  call  thera  ''  Lapides  (or 
"  Marmora")  Portici"  ;  and  put  a  little  preface  to  them 
about  the  pavement  of  St.  Mark's  porch  and  its  symbol- 
ism of  what  the  education  of  a  good  man's  early  days 
must  be  to  him?  I  think  I  can  write  something  a  little 
true  and  trustworthy  about  it.  Love  to  Mary  and  sing- 
inir  little  Joan.  You  are  very  rio^lit  about  it's  not 
beinir  srood  for  me  to  be  alone,  but  I  had  some  nice  lit- 
tie  times  in  London  with  Mary  Gladstone,  or  I  shouldn't 
have  known  what  to  do.  And  now  I'm  coming  home 
as  fast  as  I  can. 


26^A  November. 
I  have  entirely  resigned  all  hope  of  ever  thanking 
you  rightly  for  bread,  sweet  odours,  roses  and  pearls, 
and  must  just  allow  myself  to  be  fed,  scented,  roiie- 
garlanded  and  bepearled  as  if  I  were  a  poor  little  pet 
dog  ur  pet  pig.     Lut  my  cold  is  better,  and    I  am   get- 


54  IIORTUS   INCLUSUS. 

ting  on  witli  this  botany ;  but  it  is  really  too  important 
a  work  to  be  pusbed  for  a  week  or  a  foitnigbt.  And 
Mary  and  you  will  be  pleased  at  last,  I  am  sure. 

I  Lave  only  to-day  got  my  four  families,  Clarissa, 
Lychnis,  Scintilla,  and  Mica,  perfectly  and  simply  de- 
fined.    See  how  nicely  tliey  come. 

A.  Clarissa  changed  from  Dianlhus,  which  is  bad  Greek  (and 

all  my  pretty  flowers  have  names  of  girls).     Fi^ia]  jagged 
at  the  outside. 

B.  Lyclmis.     Petal  divided  in  two  at  the  outside,  and  the  fringe 

retired  to  the  top  of  the  limb. 

C.  Scintilla.     (Changed   from  Stellaria,  because  I  w'aut  Stella 

for  the  house  leeks.)    Petal  formed  by  the  two  lobes  of 
Lychnis  without  the  retired  fringe. 

D.  Mica.     Single  lobed  petal. 

Wben  once  tbese  four  families  are  well  understood 
in  typical  examples,  how  easy  it  will  be  to  attach  either 
subordinate  groups  or  specialities  of  habitat,  as  in 
America,  to  some  kinds  of  them !  The  entire  order, 
for  tlieir  purity  and  wildness,  are  to  be  named,  from 
Artemis,  "  Artemides,"  instead  of  Caryophyllaceae ;  and 
next  them   come   tlie  Yestals  (mints,  lavendei's,  etc.) ; 


NOMENCLATURE.  55 

and  tlien   the   Cytlieride  Yiola,  Veronica,  Giulietta,  the 
last  changed  from  Polygala. 

That  third  lierb  Robert  one  is  just  the  drawing  that 
nobody  but  nie  (never  mind  grammar)  could  have  made. 
Nobody!  because  it  means  ever  so  much  careful  watch- 
ing of  the  ways  of  the  leaf,  and  a  lot  of  work  in  cramp 
perspective  besides.  It  is  not  quite  right  yet,  but  it  is 
nice. 


It  is  so  nice  to  be  able  to  find  anything  that  is  in  the 
least  new^  to  you,  and  interesting ;  my  rocks  are  quite 
proud  of  rooting  that  little  saxifrage. 

I'm  scarcely  able  to  look  at  one  flower  because  of  the 
two  on  each  side,  in  my  garden  just  now.  I  want  to 
have  bees'  eyes,  there  are  so  many  lovely  things. 

I  must  tell  you,  interrupting  my  botanical  work  this 
morning,  something  that  has  just  chanced  to  me. 

I  am  arranging  the  caryophylls  which  1  mass  broadly 
into  '*  (Jlarissa,"  the  true  jagged-leaved  and  clove-scented 
ones;  "Lychnis,"  those  whose  leaves  are  essentially  in 
twolol)es;  "Arenaria,''  wliicli  I  leave  unt<uiche(l  ;  and 
"  Mica,"  a  new  name  of   my  own  for  the  pearlworts  of 


56  SORTUS  INCLUStlS. 

wliich  tlie  Freiicli  name  is  to  be  Miette,  and  the  repre- 
sentative type  (now  Sagina  procumbent)  is  to  be  in — 

Latin — Mica  arnica.  , 

French — Miette  I'amie. 

English — Pet  pearlwort. 
Then  the  next  to  this  is  to  be — 

Latin — Mica  millegrana. 

French — Miette  aux  mille  perles. 

English — Thousand  pearls. 
Now  this  on  the  whole  I  consider  the  prettiest  of  the 
group,  and  so  look  for  a  plate  of  it  wliich  I  can  copy. 
Huiitiiig  all  through  my  botanical  books,  I  find  the  best 
of  all  is  Baxter's  Oxford  one,  and  determine  at  once  to 
engrave  that.  When  turning  tlie  page  of  his  text  I 
find  :  "  The  specimen  of  this  curious  and  interesting 
little  plant  from  which  the  accompanying  drawing 
was  made  was  communicated  to  me  by  Miss  Snsan 
Beever.  To  the  kindness  of  this  young  lady,  and  tliat 
of  her  sister.  Miss  Mary  Beever,  I  am  indebted  for  the 
four  phmts  figured  in  this  number." 

I  have  copied  lest  you  should  have  trouble  in  look- 
ing for  the  book,  but  now,  you  darling  Susie,  please 
tell  me  whether  I  may  not  separate  these  lovely  pearl- 


BOTANICAL.  57 

worts  wholly  from  the  spergulas, — by  the  pearlworts 
having  only  two  leaves  like  real  pinks  at  the  joints,  and 
the  spergnlas,  a  cluster  i  and  tell  me  how  the  spergulas 
scatter  their  seeds,  I  can't  find  any  account  of  it. 


I  would  fain  have  come  to  see  that  St.  Bruno  lily ; 
but  if  I  don't  come  to  see  Susie  and  you,  be  sure  I  am 
able  to  come  to  see  nothing.  At  present  I  am  very 
deeply  involved  in  the  classification  of  the  minerals  in 
the  Sheffield  Museum,  impoi'taut  as  the  first  practical 
arrangement  ever  yet  attempted  for  popular  teaching, 
and  this  with  uiv  other  work  makes  me  fit  for  nothinjr 
in  tiie  afternoon  but  wood  chopping.  But  I  will  call 
to-day  on  Dr.   Brown's  friends. 

I  hope  you  will  not  be  too  much  shocked  with  the 
audacities  of  the  new  number  of  "Proserpina,"'  or  with 
its  ignorances.  I  am  going  during  my  wood  chopping 
really  to  ascertain  in  my  own  way  what  simple  })ersons 
ought  to  know  about  tree  growth,  and  give  it  clearly 
ill  the  next  nuniber.  I  iiiraiit  lo  <lo  the  whole  book 
ver\    (bii'ci'ciif]"'.   but   cjiii    onlv   iKtw   i^ive   \\\v    IVairnicn- 


58  HOETUS  INCLUSUS. 

tary  pieces  as  they  chance  to  come,  or  it  would  never 
be  done  at  all. 

You  must  know  before  anybody  else  how  the  exo- 
gens  are  to  be  completely  divided.  I  keep  the  four 
great  useful  groups,  mallow,  geranium,  mint,  and  wall- 
flower, under  the  head  of  domestic  orders,  that  their 
sweet  service  and  companionship  with  us  may  be  under- 
stood ;  then  the  water-lily  and  the  heath,  both  four  foils, 
are  to  be  studied  in  their  solitudes  (I  shall  throw  all 
that  are  not  four  foils  out  of  the  Ericaceae) ;  then  finally 
there  are  to  be  seven  orders  of  the  dark  proserpine, 
headed  by  the  draconids  (snapdragons),  and  including 
the  anemones,  hellebores,  ivies,  and  forget-me-nots. 

What  plants  I  cannot  get  arranged  under  these  12 
-{-4:-\-2-{-7  =  26  in  all,  orders,  I  shall  give  broken 
notices  of,  as  I  have  time,  leaving  my  pupils  to  arrange 
them  as  they  like.     I  can't  do  it  all. 

The  whole  household  was  out  after  breakfast  to-day 
to  the  top  of  the  moor  to  plant  cranberries;  and  we 
squeezed  and  splashed  and  spluttered  in  the  boggiest 
places  the  lovely  sunshine  had  left,  till  we  found  places 
squashy  and  squeezy  enough  to  please  the  most  particu- 
lar and  coolest  of  cranberry  minds;  and  then  each  of 


PLAKTIXG   CRANBERRIES.  69 

US  choosing  a  little  special  bed  of  bog,  the  tufts  were 
deeply  put  iu  with  every  manner  of  tacit  benediction, 
such  as  might  befit  a  bog  and  a  berry,  and  many  an 
expressed  thanksgiving  to  Susie  and  to  the  kind  sender 
of  the  luxuriant  plants.  I  have  never  had  gift  from 
you,  dear  Susie,  more  truly  interesting  and  gladdening 
to  me,  and  many  a  day  I  shall  climb  the  moor  to  see 
the  fate  of  the  plants  and  look  across  to  the  Thwaite. 
I've  been  out  most  of  the  forenoon  and  am  too  sleepy 
to  shape  letters,  but  will  try  and  get  a  word  of  thanks 
to  the  far  finder  of  the  dainty  things  to-morrow. 

What   loveliness  everywhere   in   a   duckling   sort  of 
state  just  now. 


21th  November. 
We've  all  been  counting  and  considering  how  old 
you  can  possibly  be  to-day,  and  have  made  Tip  oui"  minds 
that  you  are  really  thirteen,  and  must  begin  to  be  seri- 
ous. There  have  been  some  hints  about  the  necessity 
of  sending  you  to  school,  which  I  have  taken  no  notice 
of,  hoping  that  you  will  jvally  at  last  make  u[>  your 
mind  to  do  your  lessons  at  home  like  a  dear  good  little 


60  HOETUS  IITCLUSUS. 

girl  as  you  are.  And  because  to-day  you  enter  into  your 
"  teens"  I  have  sent  you  a  crystal,  and  a  little  bit  of 
native  gold,  and  a  little  bit  of  native  silver,  for  symbols 
of  this  lovely  "  nativity"  of  previous  years ;  and  I  do 
wish  you  all  love  and  joy  and  peace  in  them. 


TO   :\nSS   BEEVER. 

20th  January,  1879. 
You  will  not  doubt  the  extreme  sorrow  with  which 
I  have  heard  of  all  that  was  ordered  to  be,  of  terrible, 
in  your  peaceful  and  happy  household.  Without  for 
an  instant  supposing,  but,  on  the  contrary,  utterly  re- 
facing  to  admit,  that  such  calamities  *  may  be  used  to 
point  a  moral  (all  useful  morality  having  every  point 
that  God  meant  it  to  have,  perfectly  sharp  and  bright 
without  any  burnishing  of  ours),  still  less  to  adorn  \a 
tale  (the  tales  of  modern  days  depending  far  too  much 
upon  Scythian  decoration  with  Death's  heads),  I,  yet, 
if  I  had  been  Mr.  Chapman,  would  have  pointed  ou'; 

*  One  of  our  younger  servants  had  gone  ou  to  tliQ  frozen  lake;  the 
ice  gave  w:iy,  ami  she  was  drowned. — S.  B. 


TO  MISS   BE  EVER.  61 

that  all  concealments,  even  of  trivial  matters,  on  the 
part  of  young  servants  from  kind  mistresses,  are 
danorerons  no  less  than  unkind  and  ungenerous,  and 
tliat  a  great  deal  of  preaching  respecting  the  evil 
nature  of  man  and  tlie  anger  of  God  might  be  S])ared, 
if  children  and  servants  were  only  taught,  as  a  religious 
principle,  to  tell  their  mothers  and  mistresses,  wJien 
thej  go  out,  exactly  where  they  are  going  and  what 
they  are  going  to  do.  I  think  both  you  and  Miss  Susan 
ought  to  use  every  ^possible  means  of  changing,  or  at 
least  checkinfy,  the  current  of  such  thouo^hts  in  vour 
minds;  and  I  am  h\  hopes  that  you  may  have  a  little 
pleasure  in  examining  the  plates  in  the  volume  of  Sib- 
thorpe's  '*  F.  Grseca"  which  I  send  to  day,  in  compari- 
son with  those  of  "  F.  Danica."  The  vulgarity  and 
lifelessness  of  Sibthorpe's  plates  are  the  more  striking 
because  in  mere  execution  they  are  the  more  elaborate 
of  the  two;  the  chief  point  in  the  "  F.  Danica"  being 
the  lovely  artistic  skill.  The  drawings  for  Sibthorj^e, 
by  a  young  German,  were  as  ex(juisite  as  the  Danes, 
hut  the  Engli>h  engraver  and   colourist  spoiled  all. 

I  will   send  you,  if  you   like   them,  the   other  volumes 
in  succession.     T  timl  immense  interest  in  conij^niMng  the 


62  SORTUS  iIS"CLUSUg. 

Greek  and  Danish  forms  or  conditions  of  the  same  Eng- 
lish flower. 

I  send  the  second  volume,  in  which  the  Rnfias  are 
lovely,  and  scarcely  come  under  my  above  condemnation. 
The  first  is  nearlj'  all  of  grass. 


UTi  February. 

You  know  I'm  getting  my  Oxford  minerals  gradually 
to  Brantwood,  and  whenever  a  box  comes,  I  think 
whether  there  are  any  that  I  don't  want  myself,  which 
might  yet  have  leave  to  live  on  Susie's  table.  And  to- 
day I've  found  a  very  soft  purple  agate,  that  looks  as  if 
it  were  nearly  melted  away  with  pity  for  birds  and  flies, 
which  is  like  Susie  ;  and  another  piece  of  hard  wooden 
agate  with  only  a  little  ragged  sky  of  blue  here  and 
there,  which  is  like  me;  and  a  group  of  crystals  with 
grass  of  Epidote  inside,  which  is  like  w4iat  mj^  own  little 
cascade  has  been  all  the  winter  by  the  garden  side ;  and 
so  I've  had  them  all  packed  up,  and  I  hope  you  will  let 
them  live  at  the  Thwaite. 

Then  here  are  some  more  bits,  if  you  will  be  a  child. 
Here's  a  green  piece,  long,  of  the  stone  they  cut  those 


AGATES.  63 

green  weedy  hrooclies  out  of,  and  a  nice  inouse-coloured 
natural  agate,  and  a  great  black  and  white  one,  stained 
with  sulphuric  acid,  black,  but  very  tine  alw^ajs,  and  in- 
teresting in  its  lines. 

Oh  dear,  the  cold ;  but  it's  worth  any  cold  to  have 
that  delicious  Robin  dialogue.  Please  write  some  more 
of  it ;  jou  hear  all  they  sav,  I'm  sure. 

I  cannot  tell  vou  how  delighted  I  am  with  your  lovely 
gift  to  Joanie.  The  perfection  of  the  stone,  its  exquisite 
colour,  and  superb  weight,  and  flawless  clearness,  and  the 
delicate  cutting,  which  makes  the  light  flash  from  it  like 
a  wave  of  the  Lake,  make  it  altogether  the  most  perfect 
mineralogical  and  heraldic  jewel  that  Joanie  could  be  be- 
decked with,  and  it  is  as  if  Susie  had  given  her  a  piece 
of  Conistou  Water  itself. 

And  the  setting  is  delicious,  and  positively  must  uot 
be  altered.  I  shall  come  on  Sunday  to  thank  you  my- 
self for  it.  Meantime  I'm  working  hard  at  the  Psalter, 
which  I  am  almost  sure  Susie  will  like. 


25/A  May. 
This  is  a  most  wonderful   stone   that   Dr.  Kendall  has 
found — at  least  to  me.     I  have  never  seen  anything  (piite 


64  HORTUS.  INCLUSU.S. 

like  it,  tlie  arborescent  forms  of  tlie  central  thread  of 
iion  being  hardly  ever  assumed  by  an  ore  of  so  much 
metallic  lustre.  I  think  it  would  be  very  desirable  to 
cut  it,  so  as  to  get  a  perfectly  smooth  surface  to  show  the 
arborescent  forms ;  if  Dr.  Kendall  would  like  to  have  it 
done,  I  can  easily  send  it  up  to  London  with  my  own 
next  parcel. 

I  want  very  much  to  know  exactly  where  it  was  found  ; 
mioht  1  come  and  ask  about  it  on  Dr.  Kendall's  next 
visit  to  you  ?     I  could  be  there  waiting  for  him  any  day. 

I  am  thinking  greatly  of  our  George  Herbert,  but 
me's  so  wicked  I  don't  know  where  to  begin. 

But  I  never  have  had  nicer  letters  "  since  first  I  saw 
your  face"  and  tried  to  honour  and  reverence  you. 

Violet's  better,  and  I'm  pretty  well,  but  have  a  little 
too  much  thinking  of  old  days. 

Have  you  any  word  of  the  Collies  lately?  I  keep 
sending:  stones  and  books ;  thev  answer  not.  It  is  de- 
lightful  of  you  to  be  interested  in  that  stone  book.  I 
send  you  one  of  my  pictures  of  stones.  They're  not  very 
like,  but  they're  pretty.  I  wish  they  did  such  pictures 
now. 

What  lovely  pies  (pictures  ?)  you  would  have  made  in 


WnAT   MKillT    HAVE    BEEN".  65 

the  old  butterfly  times,  of  opal  and  felspar  !  AVhat  lost 
creatures  we  all  are,  we  nice  ones  !  The  Alps  and  clouds 
that  /could  have  done,  if  I  had  been  shown  how. 


27th  Jnne. 

Everybody's  gone  !  and  I  have  all  the  new  potatoes, 
and  all  the  asparagus,  and  all  the  oranges  and  everything, 
and  my  Susie  too,  all  to  myself. 

I  wrote  in  my  diary  this  morning  that  really  on  the 
whole  I  never  felt  better  in  my  life.  Mouth,  eyes,  head, 
feet,  and  fingers  all  fairly  in  trim  ;  older  than  they  were, 
yes,  but  if  the  head  and  heart  grow  wiser,  they  won't 
want  feet  or  fingers  some  day. 

Indeed  that  is  too  sad  about  Florence.  I've  written  a 
line  to  her  by  this  post,  and  will  do  all  the  little  I  can  to 
cheer  her. 

And  I'll  come  to  be  cheered  and  scolded  nivself  tlie 
moment  I've  got  things  a  little  to  rights  here.  I  think 
imps  get  into  the  shelves  and  drawers,  if  they^nj  kept 
long  locked,  and  must  be  caught  like  mice.  The  boys 
have  been  very  goocl,  and  left  everything  untouched  but 
the  imps  ;  and  to  hear  people  say  there  ai'en't  any  !     IJow 


G6  nORTUS-  INCLUSUS. 

happy  you  and  I  should  always  be  if  it  weren't  for 
them  !  But  w^e're  both  so  naughty  we  can't  expect  them 
to  let  us  alone.     Can  we  ? 

How  gay  you  were  and  how  you  cheered  me  up  after 
the  dark  lake. 

Please  say  "  John  Inglesant"  is  harder  than  real  his- 
tory and  of  no  mortal  use.  I  couldn't  read  four  pages 
of  it.     Clever,  of  course. 


Herne  Hill,  14:th  August,  1880. 
Wejust  finished  ray  Scott  paper:  but  it  has  retouch- 
ings and  notings  yet  to  do.  I  couldn't  write  a  word 
before;  haven't  so  much  as  a  syllable  to  Diddie,  and  only 
a  move  at  chess  to  Macdonald,  for  you  know  to  keep 
a  chess  player  waiting  for  a  move  is  like  keeping  St. 
Lawrence  unturned. 


2\st  August,  1880. 
I'm  leaving  to-day  for  Dover,  and  a  line  from  you 
to-morrow  or  Monday  would  find  me  certainly  at  Poste 
Restante,  Abbeville,  and  please,  please  tell  me  the  funny 
thing  Miss said. 


ZOOLOGICAL.  67 

I  have  not  been  working  at  all,  but  enjoying  myself 
(only  that  takes  up  time  all  the  same)  at  Crystal  Palace 
concerts,  and  jngglings,  and  at  Zoological  Gardens, 
where  1  liad  a  snake  seven  feet  long  to  play  with,  only 
I  hadn't  much  time  to  make  friends,  and  it  rather 
wanted  to  get  away  all  the  time.  And  I  gave  the 
hippopotamus  whole  buns,  and  he  was  delighted,  and 
saw  the  cormorant  catch  iish  throwu  to  him  six  yards 
off;  never  missed  one;  you  would  have  thought  the  iish 
ran  along  a  wire  up  to  him  and  down  his  throat.  And 
I  saw  the  penguin  swim  under  water,  and  the  sea  lions 
sit  up,  four  of  them  on  four  wooden  chairs,  and  catch 
fish  also ;  but  they  missed  sometimes  and  had  to  Hop  off 
their  chairs  into  the  water  and  then  flop  out  again  and 
flo])  up  again. 

And  I  lunched  with  Cardinal  Manning,  and  he  gave 
me  such  a  plum  pie.  I  never  tasted  a  Protestant  pie  to 
touch  it. 


Kow  you're  just  wrong  about  my  darling  Cardinal. 
See  what  it  is  to  be  jealous  !  lie  gave  me  lovely  soup, 
roast  beef,  hare  and  currant  jelly,  pull"  pastry  liUe   Papal 


68  HORTUS   INCLUSUS. 

pretensioDS — jou  bad  but  to  breatbe  on  it  and  it  was 
uowbere — raisins  and  almonds,  and  tbose  lovely  pre- 
served clierries  like  kisses  kept  in  amber.  And  told  me 
delicious  stories  all  tbrougb  lancb.     There  ! 

And  we  really  do  see  the  sun  here !  And  last  night 
the  sky  was  all  a  spangle  and  delicate  glitter  of  stan-^,  the 
glare  of  them  and  spikiness  softened  off  by  a  young 
darling  of  a  moon. 

And  I'm  having  rather  a  time  of  it  in  boudoirs, 
turned  into  smiling  instead  of  pouting  service.  But 
I'm  not  going  to  stay  over  my  three  weeks.  How  nice 
that  you  can  and  will  walk  round  the  dining-room  for 
exercise ! 


Calais,  24fA  August. 

I'm  not  very  far  away  yet.  you  see.  I  stayed  here  for 
auld  lang  syne,  but  with  endless  sorrow,  of  which  I  need 
not  give  you  any  part  of  the  burden. 

The  sea  has  been  beautiful,  and  I  am  better  for  the 
great  rest  and  change. 


FROM   ABROAD.  G9 

Amiens,  2df?i  August. 

Yon  have  been  made  hnppy  doubtless  with  ns  by 
tlie  news  fruin  Ileriie  Hill.  I've  only  a  telegram  yet 
thoiigb,  but  write  at  once  to  congratulate  you  on  your 
little  goddaughter. 

Also  to  say  that  I  am  very  well,  and  sadly  longing  for 
Brantwood  ;  but  tliat  I  am  glad  to  see  some  vestige  of 
beloved  things  here,  once  more. 

We  have  glorious  weather,  and  I  am  getting  perfect 
rest  most  of  the  day — mere  saunter  in  the  sunny  air, 
taking  all  the  good  I  can  of  it.  To-morrow  we  get 
(D.Y.)  to  Beauvais,  where  perhaps  I  may  find  a  letter 
from  Susie;  in  any  case  you  may  write  to  Hotel 
Meurice,  Paris. 

The  oleanders  are  coming  out  and  geraniums  in  all 
cottage  windows,  and  golden  corn  like  Etruscan  jewellery 
over  all  the  fields. 


Beauvais,  '6rd  September. 
We  are  having  the  most  perfect  weather  I  ever  saw 
in    France,  much  less  anywhere  else,  and   I'm  tal<ini^  a 
thuruugh  rest,  writing  scarcely  anything  and  sauntering 
about  old  town  streets  all  day. 


70  HORTUS   INCLUSUS. 

I  made  a  little  sketch  of  the  lake  from  above  tlie 
Waterhead  wliich  goes  everywhere  with  me,  and  it  is  so 
curious  when  the  wind  blows  the  leaf  open  when  I  am 
sketching  here  at  Beauvais,  where  all  is  so  differently 
delightful,  as  if  we  were  on  tlie  other  side  of  the  world. 

I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  write  some  passages  about 
architecture  jet,  which  Susie  will  like.  I  hear  of  count- 
less qualities  being  discovered  in  the  new  little  Susie! 
And  all  things  will  be  happy  for  me  if  you  send  me  a 
line  to  Hotel  Meurice  saying  you  are  happy  too. 


Paris,  Wh  Septemher. 
I  have  all  your  letters,  and  rejoice  in  them;  though 
it  is  a  little  sadder  for  you  looking  at  empty  Brant- 
wood,  than  for  me  to  fancy  the  bright  full  Thwaite, 
and  then  it's  a  great  shame  that  I've  everything  to 
amuse  me,  and  lovely  Louvres  and  shops  and  cathedrals 
and  coquettes  and  pictures  and  plays  and  prettinesses 
of  every  colour  and  quality,  and  you've  only  your  old, 
old  hills  and  quiet  lake.  Yery  thankful  I  shall  be  to 
get  back  to  them,  though. 


SIGnT-SEEIiq"G.  71 

We  liavG  finislied  our  Paris  this  afternoon,  and  hope 
to  leave  for  Chartres  on  Monday. 


Hotel  de  Meurice,  Paris,  Ath  September. 

Is  it  such  pain  to  you  when  people  say  what  they 
ought  not  to  say  about  me  f  But  when  do  they  say 
what  they  ought  to  say  about  anything  ?  Xearly  every- 
thing I  have  ever  done  or  said  is  as  much  above  the 
present  level  of  public  understanding  as  the  Old  Man 
is  above  the  Waterhead. 

We  have  had  the  most  marvellous  weather  thus  far, 
and  have  seen  Paris  better  than  ever  I've  seen  it  yet, — 
and  to-day  at  the  Louvre  we  saw  the  Casette  of  St. 
Louis,  the  Coffre  of  Anne  of  Austria,  the  porphyry 
vase,  made  into  an  eagle,  of  an  old  Abbe  Segur,  or 
some  such  name.  All  these  you  can  see  also,  you  know, 
in  those  lovely  photographs  of  Miss  Rigbye's,  if  you 
can  only  make  out  in  this  vile  writing  of  mine  what  I 
mean. 

But  it  is  so  hot.  I  can  scarcely  sit  up  or  liold  the 
pen,  l)iit  tumble  back  into  the  chair  every  half  minute 
and  unbutton  another  button   of  waistcoat,  and  gasp  a 


72  HORTUS   Il^CLUSUS. 

little,  and  nod  a  little,  and  wink  a  little,  and  sprinkle 
some  eaii  de  Cologne  a  little,  and  try  a  little  to 
write  a  little,  and  forget  what  I  bad  to  say,  and 
where  I  was,  and  whether  it's  Susie  or  Joan  I'm  writ- 
ing to ;  and  then  I  see  some  letters  I've  never  opened 
that  came  by  this  morning's  post,  and  think  I'd  better 
open  them  perhaps ;  and  here  I  lind  in  one  of  them 
a  delightful  account  of  the  quarrel  that  goes  on  in 
this  weather  between  the  nicest  elephant  in  the  Zoo' 
and  his  keeper,  because  he  won't  come  out  of  his  bath. 
I  saw  them  at  it  myself,  when  I  was  in  London,  and 
saw  the  elephant  take  up  a  stone  and  throw  it  hard 
against  a  door  which  the  keeper  was  behind, — but  my 
friend  writes,  "  I  must  believe  from  what  I  saw  that 
the  elephant  knew  he  would  injure  the  man  with  the 
stones,  for  he  threw  them  hard  to  the  side  of  him,  and 
then  stood  his  ground  ;  when,  however,  he  threw  water 
and  wetted  the  man,  he  plunged  into  the  bath  to  avoid 
the  whip ;  not  fearing  punishment  when  he  merely 
showed  what  he  could  do  and  did  not." 

The  throwing  the  stone  hard  at  the  door  when  the 
keeper  was  on  the  other  side  of  it,  must  have  been 
great  fun  for  him ! 


i:n-  the  bois  de  boclogxe.  73 

I  am  so  sorrj  to  have  crushed  this  enclosed  scrawl. 
R  has  been  carried  about  in  my  pocket  to  be  liiiished, 
and  I  see  there's  no  room  for  the  least  bit  of  love  at  tlie 
bottom.  So  here's  a  leaf  full  from  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne,  which  is  very  lovely  ;  and  we  drive  about  by 
nigbt  or  day,  as  if  all  the  sky  were  only  the  roof  of  a 
sapphire  palace  set  with  warm  stars. 


Chartres,  8th  September. 

(Hotel  du  Grand  Monarque.) 
I  suppose  Pm  the  grand  Monarque  !  I  don't  know 
of  any  other  going  just  now,  but  I  don't  feel  quite  the 
right  thing  without  a  wig.  Any  how,  I'm  having 
everything  my  own  way  just  now, — weather,  dinner, 
ne\?s  from  Joanie  and  news  from  Susie,  only  I  don't 
like  her  to  be  so  veiy,  very  sad,  though  it  is  nice  to  be 
missed  so  tenderly.  But  I  do  hope  you  will  like  to 
think  of   my  getting  some  joy  in  old   ways  again,  and 

once   more  exploring  old  streets  and  finding  forgotten 
churches. 

The  sunshine  is  life  and  health  to  me,  and  I  am  gain- 
ing knowledge  faster  than  ever  I  could  when  I  was 
young. 


74  noRTus  li^cLusus. 

This  is  just  to  say  where  I  am,  and  that  you  might 
know  w^liere  to  write. 

The  cathedral  here  is  the  grandest  in  France,  and  I 
stay  a  week  at  least. 


Chaetres,  13^^  September. 

I  must  be  back  in  England  by  the  1st  October,  and 
by  the  10th  shall  be  myself  ready  to  start  for  Brant- 
wood,  but  may  perhaps  stay,  if  Joanie  is  not  ready,  till 
she  can  come  too.  Anyway,  I  trust  very  earnestly  to 
be  safe  in  the  shelter  of  my  own  woodside  by  the  end  of 
October.  I  wonder  what  you  will  say  of  my  account 
of  the  Five  Lovers  of  Nature  *  and  seclusion  in  the  last 
Nineteenth  Century. 

I  am  a  little  ashamed  to  find  that  in  spite  of  my 
sublimely  savage  temperament,  I  take  a  good  deal  more 
pleasure  in  Paris  than  of  old,  and  am  even  going  back 
there  on  Friday  for  three  more  days. 

We  find  the  people  here  very  amiable,  and  the  French 
old  character  unchanged.  The  perfect  cleanliness  and 
unruffledness  of  white  cap,  is  always  a  marvel,  and 
*  Rousseau,  Shelley,  Byron,  Turner,  and  John  Ruskin. 


IN   THE    MARKET   PLACE   OF   CHARTRES.  75 

the  market  groups  exquisite,  but  our  enjoyment  of  the 
fair  is  subdued  by  })ity  for  a  dutiful  dog,  who  turns 
a  large  wheel  (by  walking  up  it  inside)  the  whole  after- 
noon, producing  awful  sounds  out  of  a  huge  grinding 
organ,  of  which  his  wheel  and  he  are  the  unfortunate 
instruments.  Him  we  love,  his  wheel  we  hate !  and  in 
general  all  French  musical  instruments.  I  have  become 
quite  sure  of  one  thing  on  this  journey,  that  the  French 
of  to-day  have  no  sense  of  harmony,  but  only  of  more 
or  less  lively  tune,  and  even,  for  a  time,  will  be  content 
with  any  kind  of  clash  or  din  produced  in  time. 
The  Cathedral  service  is,  however,  still  impressive. 


16^^  February,  1881. 
I've  much  to  tell  you  "  to-day"  *  of  answer  to  those 
prayers  you  prayed  for  me.  But  you  must  be  told  it 
by  our  good  angels,  for  your  eyes  must  not  be  worn. 
God  willing,  you  shall  see  men  as  trees  walking  in  the 
garden  of  God,  on  this  pretty  Coniston  earth  of  ours. 
Don't  be  afraid,  and  please  be  happy,  for  I  can't  be, 

*  The  motto  on  Mr.  lluskin's  seal.     See  "Piaeterita,"  Vol.  II.,  p. 
286. 


76  HORTUS   iN'CLUStJS. 

if  you  are  not.  Love  to  Mary,  to  Miss  Rigbje,  and 
my  own  St.  Ursnla,"^  and  mind  you  give  the  messages 
to  all  three^  heartily. 


22wrf  April. 
I'm  not  able  to  scratch  or  fight  to-day,  or  I  wouldn't 
let  you  cover  me  up  with  this  heap  of  gold ;  but  I've 
got  a  rheumatic  creak  in  my  neck,  which  makes  me 
physically  stiff  and  morally  supple  and  unprincipled, 
so  I've  put  two  pounds  sixteen  in  my  own  "  till,"  where 
it  just  fills  up  some  lowering  of  the  tide  lately  by  Ger- 
man bands  and  the  like,  and  I've  put  ten  pounds  aside 
for  Sheffield  Museum,  now  in  instant  mendicity,  and 
I've  put  ten  pounds  aside  till  you  and  I  can  have  a  talk 
and  you  be  made  reasonable,  after  being  scolded  and 
scratched,  after  which,  on  your  promise  to  keep  to  our 
old  bargain  and  enjoy  spending  your  little  "  Frondes" 
income,  I'll  be  your  lovingest  again.  And  for  the  two 
pounds  ten,  and  the  ten,  I  am  really  most  heartily 
grateful,  meaning  as  they  do  so  much  that  is  delightful 
for  both  of  us  in  the  good  done  by  this  work  of  yours. 
*  Pliotograph  of  Caipaccio's. 


THE   IIYMX   TO   BEAUTY.  77 

I  send  you   Spenser ;  perliaps  joii  had  better  begin 
with  the  Ilynin  to  Beauty,  page  39,  aiid  then  go  on  to 
the  Tears ;  but  you'll  see  how  you  like  it.     It's  better     * 
than  Longfellow;  see  line  52 — 

"  The  house  of  blessed  gods  which  men  call  skye." 

Now  I'm  going  to  look  out  Dr.  Kendall's  crystal.  It 
must  be  crystal,*  for  having  brought  back  the  light  to 
your  eyes. 


\2ih  July. 

How  delightful  that  you  have  that  nice  Mrs.  Howard 
to  hear  you  say  "The  Ode  to  Beauty,"  and  how  nice 
that  you  can  learn  it  and  enjoy  saying  it!  f  I  do  not 
know  itsnyself.  I  only  know  that  it  should  be  known 
and  said  and  heard  and  loved. 

I  am  often  near  you  in  thought,  but  can't  get  over 
the  lake  somehow.  There's  always  somebody  to  be 
looked  after  here,  now.     I've  to  rout  the  gardeners  out 

*  For  a  present  to  Dr.  Kendall. 

f  I  learnt  the  whole  of  it  by  heart,  and  could  then  say  it  williout 
a  break.  I  have  always  loved  it,  and  in  return  it  has  helped  me 
through  many  a  long  and  sleepless  night. — S.  B. 


78  HORTUS   Il^CLUSUS. 

of  the  greenhouse,  or  I  should  never  have  a  strawberry 
or  a  pink,  but  only  nasty  gloxinias  and  glaring  fuchsias, 
and  I've  been  giving  lessons  to  dozens  of  people  and 
writing  charming  sermons  in  the  "  Bible  of  Amiens" ; 
but  I  get  so  sleepy  in  the  afternoon,  1  can't  pull  myself 
over  it. 

I  was  looking  at  your  notes  on  birds  yesterday.  How 
sweet  tliey  are !  But  I  can't  forgive  that  young  black- 
bird for  getting  wild  again. 


Last  day  of  1881.    And  tne  last  letter 
I  write  on  it,  with  new  pen. 

I've  lunched  on  your  oysters,  and  am  feasting  eyes 
and  mind  on  your  birds. 

What  birds? 

Woodcock  ?  Yes,  I  suppose,  and  never  before 
noticed  the  sheath  of  his  bill  going  over  the  front  of 
the  lower  mandible  that  he  may  dig  comfortably  !  But 
the  others !  the  glory  of  velvet  and  silk  and  cloud  and 
light,  and  black  and  tan  and  ^old,  and  golden  sand,  and 
dark  tresses,  and  purple  shadows  and  moors  and  mists 
and  night  and  starlight,  and  woods  and  wilds  and  dells 


EASTERTIDE.  79 

and  deeps,  and  every  mystery  of  lieaven  and  its  finger 
woi-k,  is  ill  tliuse  little  birds'  backs  and  wings.  I  am  so 
grateful.  All  loye  and  joy  to  you,  and  wings  to  flj 
with  and  birds'  hearts  to  comfort,  and  mine,  be  to  jou 
in  the  coming  year. 


Easter  Day,  1882. 
I  have  had  a  liappy  Easter  morning,  entirely  bright 
in  its  sun  and  clear  in  sky  ;  and  with  rene\yed  strength 
enough  to  begin  again  the  piece  of  St.  Benedict's  lite 
where  I  broke  off^to  lose  these  four  weeks  in  London, — 
weeks  not  wholly  lost  neither,  for  I  have  learned  more 
and  more  of  what  I  should  have  known  without  lesson- 
ing ;  but  I  have  learnt  it,  from  these  repeated  dreams 
and  fantasies,  that  we  walk  in  a  vain  shadow  and  dis- 
quiet ourselves  in  vain.  So  I  am  for  the  present,  every- 
body says,  quite  good,  and  give  as  little  trouble  as  possi- 
ble ;  but  pe()[)le  lolll  take  it,  you  know,  sometimes, 
even  when  I  don't  give  it,  and  there's  a  great  fuss  about 
me  yet.  But  i/oit  must  not  be  anxious  any  more,  Susie, 
for  really  there  is  no  more  occasion  at  one  time  than 
another.     All  the  doctors  say  I  needn't  be  ill  unless   I 


80  HORTUS  IKCLUSUS. 

like,  and  I  don't  mean  to  like  any  more ;  and  as  far  as 
chances  of  ordinary  danger,  I  think  one  runs  more  risks 
in  a  single  railway  journey,  than  in  the  sicknesses  of  a 
whole  year. 


Sth  June. 

You  write  as  well  as  ever,  and  the  eyes  must  surely 
be  better,  and  it  w^as  a  joyful  amazement  to  me  to  hear 
that  Mary  was  able  to  read  and  could  enjoy  my  child's 
botany.  You  always  have  things  before  other  people ; 
will  you  please  send  me  some  rosemary  and  lavender  as 
soon  as  any  are  out  ?  I  am  busy  on  the  Labiatae,  and  a 
good  deal  bothered.  Also  St.  Benedict,  whom  I  shall 
get  done  with  long  before  I've  made  out  the  nettles  he 
rolled  in. 

I'm  sure  I  ought  to  roll  myself  in  nettles,  burdocks, 
and  blackthorn,  for  here  in  London  I  can't  loally  think 
now  of  anything  but  flirting,  and  I'm  only  much  the 
worse  for  it  afterwards. 

And  I'm  generally  wicked  and  weary^  like  the  people 
who  ought  to  be  put  to  rest.  But  you'd  miss  me,  and  so 
would  Joanie ;  so  I  suppose  I  shall  be  let  stay  a  litil^ 
while  longer. 


LEVAVI   OCULOS.  81 

Sallenches,  Savoy,  IdtJi  Sejitemher. 
I  saw  Mont  Blanc  again  to-daj,  unseen  since  1S7T  ; 
and  was  very  tliankful.  It  is  a  siglit  that  always  re- 
deems me  to  what  I  am  capable  of  at  my  poor  little 
best,  and  to  what  loves  and  memories  are  most  precious 
to  uie.  So  I  write  to  y(n(,  one  of  the  few  true  loves 
left.  The  snow  has  fallen  fresh  on  the  hills,  and  it 
makes  me  feel  that  I  must  soon  be  seeking  shelter  at 
Brantwood  and  the  Thwaite. 


Genoa,  Sunday,  2ith  Septemher. 

I  got  your  delightful  note  yesterday  at  Turin,  and  it 
made  me  wish  to  run  back  through  the  tunnel  directly 
instead  of  coming  on  here.  But  I  had  a  wonderful  day, 
the  Alps  clear  all  the  morning  all  round  Italy — two 
hundred  miles  of  them;  and  then  in  the  afternoon  blue 
waves  of  the  Gulf  of  Genoa  breaking  like  blue  chtuds, 
thunderclouds,  under  groves  of  olive  and  palm.  But  I 
wished  they  were  my  sparkling  waves  of  Coniston  in- 
stead, when  1  I'cad  your  letter  again. 

What  a  gay  Susie,  receiving  all  the  world,  like  a 
'x^ui'en  Susan  (^how  odd  one  has  never  heard  of  a  Queen 


S2  HORTUS   INCLUSUS. 

Susan  !),  only  jou  are  so  naughty,  and  you  never  do  tell 
me  of  any  of  those  nice  girls  when  they're  coining^  but 
only  when  they're  gone,  and  I  never  shall  get  glimpse 
of  them  as  long  as  I  live. 

But  you  know  you  really  represent  the  entire  Riiskin 
school  of  the  Lake  Country,  and  I  think  these  levees  of 
yours  must  be  very  amusing  and  enchanting  ;  but  it's 
very  dear  and  good  of  you  to  let  the  people  come  and 
enjoy  themselves,  and  how  really  well  and  strong  you 
must  be  to  be  able  for  it. 

I  am  very  glad  to  hear  of  those  sweet,  shy  girls,  poor 
things.^  I  suppose  the  sister  they  are  now  anxious 
about  is  the  one  that  would  live  by  herself  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Lake,  and  study  Emerson  and  aspire  to 
Buddhism. 

I'm  trying  to  put  my  own  poor  little  fragmentary  Ism 
into  a  rather  more  connected  form  of  imagery.  I've 
never  quite  set  myself  up  enough  to  impress  S07ne  peo- 
])le ;  and  I've  written  so  much  that  I  can't  quite  make 
out  what  I  am  myself,  nor  what  it  all  comes  to. 

*  Florence,  Alice,  and  May  Bennett.     Florence  is  gone.     Alice 
and  May  still  sometimes  at  Coniston,  D.G.  (March  1887). 


TO    MISS    BEAVER.  83 

10^/i  January,  1883. 
I  cannot  tell  joii  Low  grateful  and  glad  I  am,  to  have 
your  lovely  note  and  to  know  that  the  Bewick  gave  you 
pleasure,  and  that  you  are  so  entirely  well  now,  as  to  en- 
joy anything  requiring  so  much  energy  and  attention  to 
this  degree.  For  indeed  1  can  scarcely  now  take  pleas- 
ure myself  in  things  that  give  nie  the  least  trouble  to 
look  at,  but  I  know  that  the  pretty  book  and  its  chosen 
woodcuts  ought  to  be  sent  to  you,  first  of  all  my  friends 
(I  have  not  yet  thought  of  sending  it  to  anyone  else), 
and  I  am  quite  put  in  heart  after  a  very  despondent  yes- 
terday, past  inanely,  in  thinking  of  what  /  couldnH  do, 
by  feeling  what  you  caii,  and  hoping  to  share  the 
happy  Christmas  time  with  you  and  Susie  in  future 
years.  Will  you  please  tell  my  dear  Susie  I'm  £:oing 
to  bring  over  a  drawing  to  show  !  (so  thankful  that  I 
am  still  able  to  draw  after  these  scrange  and  terrible 
illnesses)  this  afternoon.  I  am  in  hopes  it  may  clear, 
but  dark  or  bright  Vm  coming,  about  half  past  three, 
and  am  ever  your  and  her  most  affectionate  and  faith- 
ful servant. 


84  HORTUS  i:n'clusus. 

24:th  September,  1884. 
I  wandered  literally  "  up  and  down"  yonr  mountain 
garden — (how  beautifully  the  native  rocks  slope  to  its 
patlis  in  the  sweet  evening  hght,  Susiesque  light !) — with 
great  happiness  and  admiration,  as  I  went  home,  and  I 
came  indeed  upon  w^hat  I  conceived  to  be — discovered 
in  the  course  of  recent  excavations — two  deeply  interest- 
ing thrones  of  the  ancient  Abbots  of  Furness,  typifying 
their  humility  in  that  the  seats  thereof  were  only  level 
with  the  ground  between  two  clusters  of  the  earth  ;  con- 
templating cyclamen,  and  their  severity  of  penance,  in 
the  points  of  stone  prepared  for  the  m.ortification  of  their 
backs ;  but  truly,  Susie's  seat  of  repose  and  meditation  I 
was  unable  as  yet  to  discern,  but  propose  to  myself  fur- 
ther investigation  of  that  apple-perfumed  paradise,  and 
am  ever  your  devoted  and  enchanted. 


1st  December. 

I  gave  my  fourteenth,  and  last  for  this  year,  lecture 

this  afternoon  with   vigor  and  effect,  and  am  safe  and 

well  (D.  G.),  after  such  a  spell  of  work  as  1  never  did 

before,     I  have  been  thrown  a  week  out  in  all  my  plans, 


AT   OXFORD.  85 

bv  liaviiig  to  write  two  new  Lectures,  instead  of  tlicsc 
the  University  was  frightened  at.  The  scientists  sh'nk 
ont  of  my  way  now,  as  if  I  was  a  mad  dog,  for  I  let 
them  have  it  hot  and  heavy  whenever  I've  a  chance  at 
them. 

But  as  I  said,  I'm  a  week  late,  and  though  I  start  for 
tlie  North  tliis  day  week,  I  can't  get  home  till  this  day 
fortnight  at  soonest,  but  I  hope  not  later  than  to-morrow^ 
fortnight.  Yery  thankful  I  shall  be  to  tind  myself  again 
at  the  little  room  door. 

Fancy  Mary  Gladstone  forgiving  me  even  that  second 
naughtiness!  She's  going  to  let  me  come  to  see  her  this 
week,  and  to  play  to  me,  wdiich  is  a  great  comfort. 


St.  Susie,  2nth  Notemher,  1885. 
Behold  Athena  and  Apollo  both  come  to  bless  you  on 
your  birtliduy,  and  all  the  buds  of  the  year  to  come,  I'o- 
joice  with  you,  and  your  poor  cat ""  is  able  to  jiurr  again, 
and  is  extremely  (comfortable  and  even  cheerful  '^  to-day." 
And  we  will  make  more  and  more  of  the  days,  won't  we, 
and  we  will  burn  our  candle  at  both  beginnings  instead 

*J.  K. 


86  noKTus  iin^clusus. 

of  botli  ends,  every  day  beginning  two  worlds — the  old 
one  to  be  lived  over  again,  the  new  to  learn  our  golden 
letters  in.  Not  that  I  mean  to  write  books  in  that 
world.  1  hope  to  be  set  to  do  something,  there  ;  and 
vvdiat  lovely  "  receptions"  you  will  have  in  your  iirtle 
Jieavenly  Thwaite,  and  celestial  teas.  And  you  w^on't 
spoil  the  cream  with  hot  water,  will  you,  any  more  ? 

The  whole  village  is  enjoying  itself,  I  hear,  and  the 
widows  and  orphans  to  be  much  the  better  for  it,  and 
altogether,  you  and  I  have  a  jolly  time  of  it,  haven't 
w^e  ? 


20th  February,  1886. 
I  haven't  had  anything  nice  to  send  you  this  ever  so 
long,  but  here's  a  little  l)ird's  nest  of  native  silver  which 
you  could  almost  live  in  as  comfortably  as  a  tit.  It  will 
stand  nicely  on  your  table  without  upsetting,  and  is  so 
comfortable  to  hold,  and  altogether  I'm  pleased  to  have 
got  it  for  you. 


\st  March. 
Yes,  I  knew  you  would  like  that  silver  shrine  !  and  it 
is  an  extremely  rare  and  perfect  specimen.     But  you 


THE   SILVER   SHRINE.  87 

need  not  be  afraid  in  handling  it ;  if  the  little  bit  of  spar 
does  come  off  it,  or  out  of  it,  no  matter. 

But  of  course  nobody  else  should  touch  it,  till  you  give 
them  leave,  and  show  them  how. 

I  am  sorry  for  poor  Miss  Brown,  and  for  your  not 
having  known  the  Doctor.  He  should  have  come  here 
when  I  told  him.  I  believe  he  would  have  been  alive 
yet,  and  I  never  should  have  been  ill. 


I  believe  you  know  more  Latin  than  I  do,  and  can 
certainly  make  more  delightful  nse  of  it. 

Your  mornings'  ministry  to  tlie  birds  must  be  remem- 
bered for  you  by  the  angels  wlio  paint  their  feathers. 
They  will  all,  one  day,  be  birds  of  Paradise,  and  say, 
when  the  adverse  angel  accuses  you  of  being  naught}'  to 
some  peo])le,  "  But  we  were  hungry  and  she  gave  us 
curn,  and  took  care  that  nobody  else  ate  it." 

T  am  indeed  thankful  you  are  better.  But  you  must 
please  tell  me  what  the  thing  was  I  said  which  gave  you 
so  much  })ain.  Do  you  recollect  also  what  the  little  hit 
in  •'  Proserpina"  was  that  said  so  much  to  you  ^  Were 
you  not  thinking  of  ''  Fors"  % 


88  HOKTUS  IN'CLUSUS. 

I  am  very  thankful  for  all  your  dear  letters  always — 
greatly  delighted  above  all  with  the  squirrel  one,  and 
Chaucer.  Didn't  he  love  squirrels  !  and  don't  I  wish  I 
was  a  squirrel  in  Susie's  pear  trees,  instead  of  a  hobbling 
disconsolate  old  man,  with  no  teeth  to  bite,  much  less 
crack,  anything,  and  particularly  forbidden  to  eat  nuts ! 


Your  precious  letter,  showing  me  you  are  a  little 
better,  came  this  morning,  with  the  exquisite  feathers, 
one,  darker  and  lovelier  than  any  I  have  seen,  but  please, 
I  still  want  one  not  in  the  least  flattened ;  all  these  have 
lost  just  the  least  bit  of  their  shell-like  bending.  You 
can  so  easily  devise  a  little  padding  to  keep  two  strong 
cards  or  bits  of  wood  separate  for  one  or  two  to  lie 
happily  in.  I  don't  mind  giving  you  this  tease,  for  the 
throat  will  be  better  the  less  you  remember  it.  But  for 
all  of  us,  a  dark  sky  is  assuredly  a  poisonous  and 
depressing  powder,  which  neither  surgery  nor  medicine 
can  resist.  The  difference  to  me  between  nature  as  she 
is  now,  and  as  she  was  ten  years  ago,  is  as  great  as 
between  Lapland  and  Italy,  and  the  total  loss  of  comfort 
in  morning  and  evening  sky,  the  most  difficult  to  resist 
of  all  spiritual  hostility. 


THE    DARKENING    OF   THE   SKIES.  89 

1st  May,  1886. 

What  lovely  letters  you  are  writing  7ne  just  now,  but 
as  for  my  not  having  said  any  pretty  things  of  ?/ou  for  a 
long  while,  yon  know  perfectly  that  I  am  saying  them 
in  my  heart  every  day  and  all  day  long!  I  can't  find  a 
shell  marble,  but  I  send  you  (to  look  at,  it's  too  ugly  for 
a  present)  a  shell  agate  made  of  shells,  iii  a  shell,  as  if  in 
a  pot ! 

And  I  send  you  for  a  May-day  gift,  with  all  loving 
May,  June,  and  December,  and  January  wishes,  such  a 
pretty  green  and  white  stone  gone  maying,  as  one  doesn't 
often  see  with  the  rest  of  the  Jacks-in  the-greeu. 

And  I'm  ever  (or  at  least  for  a  while  yet)  your  curled 
up  old  cat.  I  shall  come  out  of  curl  and  get  frisky  when 
the  hvacinths  come  out.  Telesrram  iust  come  from 
Ireland:  "Rose  queen  elected;  sweetly  pretty,  and  all 
most  happy." 


22nd  May,  1886. 
Of  course  the  little  pyramid  in  crystal  is  a  present. 
With  that  enjoyment  of  Pinkerton,'-'"  you  will  have  quite 
a  new  indoors  interest,  whatever  the  rain  may  say. 
*  Pinkcrton  on  "  Potralogy." 


90  HORTUS  INCLUSUS. 

How  very  lucky  you  asked  me  what  basalt  was !  How 
much  has  come  out  of  it  (written  in  falling  asleep)?  I've 
been  out  all  the  morning  and  am  so  sleepy. 

But  I've  written  a  nice  little  bit  of  "Frseterita"  before 
I  went  out,  trying  to  describe  the  Rhone  at  Geneva.  I 
think  Susie  will  like  it,  if  nobody  else. 

That  "  not  enjoying  the  beauty  of  things"  goes  ever  so 
much  deeper  than  mere  blindness.  It  is  a  form  of 
antagonism,  and  is  essentially  Satanic.  A  most  strange 
form  of  demonology  in  otherwise  good  people,  or  shall 
we  say  in  "good  people"*?  You  know  loe  are  not  good 
at  all,  are  we  now  ? 

I  don't  think  you've  got  any  green  in  your  mica. 
I've  sent  you  a  bit  enclosed  with  some  jealous  spots  in. 


Last  day  of  May. 
I'm  bringing  to-day  with  the  strawroots,  twelve  more 
sketches  in  folio, .  and  the  plan  is  that  out  of  those, 
making  with  the  rest  twenty-four,  you  choose  twelve 
to  keep  next  week,  with  the  new  folio  of  twelve  to 
be  then  brought,  and  you  then  put  aside  twelve  to  be 
given  back  in  exchange  for  it,  then  next  to  next  week 


EYES  THAT   SEE   NOT.  91 

yon  choose  twelve  out  of  that  twenty-four,  and  then 
next  week  twelve  out  of  its  twenty-four,  and  then  when 
I  can't  send  any  more  you  choose  the  one  to  -keep  out 
of  the  hist  lot,  which  you  see  will  then  be  the  creamiest 
cream,  not  to  say  cheesiest  cheese  of  the  rest !  Kow 
isn't  that  a  nice  amusing  categorical,  cataloquizical,  cate- 
chismic,  catcataceous  plan  ? 


7^/i  June. 

You  have  been  what  Joanie  calls  a  "  Doosie  Dandy" 
about  those  dozens  of  sketches !  You're  always  to 
have  twenty-four  on  liand,  then  those  I  send  to-day 
are  to  stay  with  the  twelve  you  have,  till  next  Monday, 
and  you'll  have  time  then  to  know  which  vou  like  best 
to  keep.  JSText  Monday  I  send  another  twelve  and 
take  back  the  twelve  you've  done  v;it]i. 

It  was  very  beautiful  yesterday  looking  from  here. 

I'm  pretty  well,  and  writing  saucy  things  to  every- 
body. 

I  told  a  Canjbridge  man  yesterday  tliat  he  hud  l)een 
clever  enough  to  })ut  into  a  bhilling  pamphlet  all  the 
mistakes  of  his  generation. 


93  HORTUS  IKCLUSUS. 

Qth  November. 

Do  you  know  how  to  make  sugar  candy  ?  In  my 
present  aibject  state  tlie  only  way  of  amusing  myself  I 
can  hit  on  is  setting  the  girls  of  the  school  to  garden  and 
cook  !  By  way  of  beginning  in  cooking  T  offered  to 
pay  for  any  quantity  of  wasted  sugar  if  they  could  pro- 
duce me  a  crystal  or  two  of  sugar  candy.  (On  the  way 
to  twelfth  cakes,  you  know,  and  sugar  animals.  One  of 
Francesca's  Friends  made  her  a  life-size  Easter  lamb  in 
sugar.)  Tlie  first  try  this  morning  was  brought  me  in 
a  state  of  sticky  jelly. 

And  after  sending  me  a  recipe  for  candy,  would  you 
please  ask  Harry  to  look  at  the  school  garden  ?  I'm 
going  to  get  the  hoys  to  keep  that  in  order;  but  if 
Harry  would  look  at  it  and  order  some  mine  gravel 
down  for  the  walks,  and,  with  Mr.  Brocklebank's 
authority  (to  whom  I  have  spoken  already),  direct  any 
of  the  boys  who  are  willing  to  form  a  corps  of  little 
gardeners,  and  under  Harry's  orders  make  the  best  that 
can  be  made  of  that  neglected  bit  of  earth,  I  think  you 
and  I  should  enjoy  hearing  of  it. 

Mr.  Kendall  is  a  Delphic  oracle.  Do  you  think  you 
could  take  sherry  instead  of  port  ^     My  sherry  is, — well 


A   BIRTHDAY   STOXE.  93 

I  only  wit^li  Falstaff  were  alive  to  tell  yon  what  it  is,  or 
Will  himself;  but  shall  I  send  yon  a  bottle?  And 
mind  yon  don't  mind  the  smarting  if  Dr.  K.  gives  you 
things  to  make  yon  cry.  And  I'll  be  so  good,  and  not 
make  you  cry  for  a  week  at  least. 


27lh  November,  1886. 
For  once,  I  have  a  birthday  stone  for  you,  a  little 
worth  your  having,  and  a  little  gladsome  to  me  in  the 
giving.  It  is  blue  like  the  air  that  you  were  born  into, 
and  always  live  in.  It  is  as  deep  as  gentians,  and  has 
their  fleams  of  irreen  in  it,  and  it  is  precious  all  through 
within  and  without,  as  Susie  herself  is.  Many  and 
many  returns  of  all  the  birthdays  that  have  gone  away, 
and  crowds  yet  of  those  that  never  were  here  before. 


MISCELLAIS'EOUS. 


I  never  heard  the  like,  my  writing  good  !  and  just 
now  ! !  If  yon  only  saw^  the  wretched  notes  on  the  back 
of  lectnre  leaves. 

But  I  am  so  very  glad  you  think  it  endurable,  and 
it  is  so  nice  to  be  able  to  give  you  a  moment's  pleasure 
by  such  a  thing.  I'm  better  to-day,  but  still  extremely 
languid.  I  believe  that  there  is  often  something  in 
the  spring  which  weakens  one  by  its  very  tenderness  ; 
the  violets  in  the  wood  send  one  home  sorrovv4"ul  that 
one  isn't  w^orthy  to  see  them,  or  else,  that  one  isn't 
one  of  them. 

It  is  mere  Midsummer  dream  in  the  wood  to-day. 

You  could  not  possibly  have  sent  me  a  more  delight- 
ful present  than  this  Lychnis;  it  is  the  kind  of  flower 

that  gives  me  pleasure    and   health   and    memory   and 

94 


MISCELLAXEOUS.  95 

liope  and  everything  that  Alpine  meadows  and  air  ci;n. 
I'm  getting  better  generally,  too.  The  sun  did  take 
one  by  surprise  at  first. 

How  blessedly  happy  Joanie  and  the  children  were 
yesterday  at  the  Thwaite !  I'm  coming  to  be  happy  my- 
self there  to-morrow  (D.Y.). 

Here  are  the  two  bits  of  study  I  did  in  Malham  Cove ; 
the  small  couples  of  leaves  are  different  poj'traits  of  the 
first  shoots  of  the  two  geraniums.  I  don't  find  in  any 
botany  an  account  of  their  little  round  side  leaves,  or 
of  the  definite  central  one  above  the  branching  of  them. 

Here's  your  lovely  note  just  come.  I  am  very  thank- 
ful that  the  "  Venice"  gives  you  so  much  pleasure. 

I  have,  at  least,  one  certainty,  which  few  authors 
could  hold  so  surely,  that  no  one  was  ever  harmed  by 
a  book  of  mine ;  they  may  have  been  offended,  but 
have  never  been  discouraged  or  discomforted,  still  less 
corrupted. 

There's  a  saucy  speech  for  Susie's  friend.  You  won't 
like  me  any   more  if  I  begin  to  talk  like  that. 

The  nice  bread  is  come.  May  I  come  to  tea  again  to- 
morrow ? 


96  noiiTus  iNCLusus. 

I   never   send   my  love   to    Miss   Beever,  but   I   do 
love  her  for  all  that. 


A  sapphire  is  the  same  stone  as  a  ruby ;  both  are 
the  pure  earth  of  clay  crystallised.  No  one  knows 
why  one  is  red  and  the  other  blue. 

A  diamond  is  pure  coal  crystallised. 

An  opal,  pure  flint — in  a  state  of  fixed  jelly, 

I'll  And  a  Susie-book  on  them. 

I'll  send  II.  Carlyle.  I  am  so  very  glad  you  en- 
joy it. 

I'm  in  a  great  passion  with  the  horrid  people  who 
write  letters  to  tease  my  good  little  Susie.  I  wonH 
have  it.  She  shall  have  some  more  stones  to-moiTo>v. 
*  I  must  have  a  walk  to-day,  and  can't  give  account 
of  them,  but  I've  looked  them  out.  It's  so  very  nice 
that  you  like  stones.  If  my  father,  when  I  was  a  little 
boy,  would  only  have  given  me  stones  for  bread,  how 
I  should  have  thanked  him,  but  one  doesn't  expect 
such  a  taste  in   little  girls. 

What  infinite  power  and  treasure  3^ou  have  in  being 
able  thus  to  enjoy  the  least  things,  yet  having  at  the 


MISCELLANEOUS.  97 

same  time  all  the  fastidiousness  of  taste  and  inuiii;!- 
natioii  which  lays  hold  of  what  is  greatest  in  the  least, 
and  best  in  all  things! 

Kever  hurt  your  eyes  by  writing;  keep  them  wholly 
for  admiration  and  wonder.  I  hope  to  write  little 
more  myself  of  books,  and  to  join  with  you  in  joy 
over  crystals  and  flowers  in  tiie  way  we  used  to  do 
when  we  were  both  more  children  than  we  are. 

I  have  been  rather  depressed  hy  that  tragic  story 
of  the  codling.  1  hope  the  thief  of  that  apple  has 
suffered  more  than  Eve,  and  fallen  farther  than  either 
she  or  Adam. 

Joan  had  to  be  out  early  this  morning,  and  I  won't 
let  her  write  more,  for  it's  getting  dark;  but  she  thinks 
of  you  and  loves  you,  and  so  do  I,  every  day  more 
and  more. 


TO   MISS   BEEVER. 

I  am  ashamed  not  to  have  sent  yon  a  word  of  ex- 
pression of  my  real  and  vci-y  dee[)  feelings  of  rog:n-(l 
:iii(l  respect  for  yon,  and  of  my,  m)i  fervent  (in  tl;<' 
usual    phrase,   which    means   only   hasty   and  ebullient), 


98  HORTUS   IKCLUSUS. 

but  serenely  ibarm^  lio]3e  tliat  joii  may  keep  your 
present  power  of  benevolent  happiness  to  length  of 
many  days  to  come.  But  I  hope  you  will  sometimes 
take  the  simpler  view  of  the  little  agate  box  than  that 
of  birthday  token,  and  that  you  will  wonder  sometimes 
at  its  labyrintli  of  mineral  vegetable !  1  assure  you 
there  is  nothing  in  all  my  collection  of  agates  in  its 
way  quite  so  perfect  as  the  little  fiery  forests  of  dotty 
trees  in  the  corner  of  the  piece  which  forms  the  bot- 
tom. I  ought  to  have  set  it  in  silver,  but  was  always 
afraid  to  trust  it  to  a  lapidary. 

What  you  say  of  the  Greek  w^ant  of  violets  is  also 
very  interesting  to  me,  for  it  is  one  of  my  little  pet 
discoveries  that  Homer  means  the  blue  iris  by  the 
word  translated  "  violet." 

I  am  utterly  sorry  not  to  come  to  see  you  and 
Susie  before  leaving  for  town,  but  can't  face  this  bitter 
day.    I  hope  and  solemnly  propose  to  be  back  in  a  w^eek. 


Thursday  morning. 
I'm  ever  so  much  better,  and  the  jackdaw  has  come. 
But  why    wasn't   I  there  to  meet   his  pathetic   desire 


MISCELLANEOUS.  90 

for  art  knowledge?  To  think  of  that  poor  bird's  genius 
and  love  of  scarlet  ribbons,  shut  np  in  a  cage !  What 
it  might  have  come  to ! 

If  ever  my  St  George's  schools  come  to  any  perfec- 
tion, they  shall  have  every  one  a  jackdaw  to  give  the 
children  their  tirst  lessons  in  arithmetic.  Tm  sure  he 
could  do  it  perfectly.  "Now,  Jack,  take  two  from 
four,  and  show  them  liow  many  are  left."  "  Now.  Jlick, 
if  you  take  the  teaspoon  out  of  tliis  saucer,  and  put  it 
into  iliat^  and  then  if  you  take  two  teaspoons  out  of 
two  saucers,  and  put  them  into  this,  and  then  if  you 
take  one  teaspoon  out  of  this,  and  put  it  into  that,  how 
many  spoons  are  there  in  this,  and  how  many  in  that  ?" 
— and  so  on. 

Oh,  Susie,  when  we  do  get  old.  you  and  I,  won't  we 
have  nice  schools  for  the  birds  first,  and  then  for  the 
children  ?. 

That  photograph  is  indeed  like  a  visit  ;  how  thankful 
I  am  that  it  is  still  my  hope  to  get  the  real  visit  some 
day  I 

I  was  yesterday,  and  am  alwnys,  certainly  at  present, 
very  unwell,  and  a  mere  trouble  to  my  Joanies  and 
Susies  and  all  who  care  for  me.     Jhit  Fm  painting  an- 


100  HOKTUS   Iiq"CLUSUS. 

other  bit  of  moss  which  I  think  Susie  will  enjoy,  and 
hope  for  better  times. 

Did  yon  see  the  white  clond  that  stayed  qniet  for 
three  liours  this  morning  over  the  Old  Man's  summit  ? 
It  was  one  of  the  few  remains  of  the  heaven  one  used  to 
see.  The  heaven  one  had  a  Fatlier  in,  not  a  raging 
enemy. 

I  send  you  Rogers'  '^  Italy,"  that  is  no  more.  I  do 
think  you'll  have  pleasure  in  it. 


I've  been  made  so  miserable  by  a  paper  of  Sir  J.  Lub- 
bock's on  flowers  and  insects,  that  I  must  come  and 
whine  to  you.  He  says,  and  really  as  if  he  knew  it,  that 
insects,  chiefly  bees,  entirely  originate  •  flowers ;  that  all 
scent,  color,  pretty  form,  is  owing  to  bees ;  that  flowers 
which  insects  don't  take  care  of,  have  no  scent,  colour,  nor 
honey. 

It  seems  to  me,  that  it  is  likelier  that  the  flowers 
which  have  no  scent,  colour,  nor  honey,  don't  get  any  at- 
tention from  the  bees. 

But  the  man  really  knows  so  much  about  it,  and  has 


MISCELLA:N"EOrS.  101 

tried  so  many  pretty  exi^jerimeiits,  tliat  he  makes  nie 
miserable. 

So  I'm  afraid  you're  miserable  too.  Write  to  tell  me 
about  it  all. 

It  is  very  lovely  of  you  to  send  me  so  sweet  a  note 
when  I  have  not  been  near  you  since  the  tenth  century. 
But  it  is  all  I  can  do  to  get  my  men  and  my  moor  looked 
after;  they  have  both  the  instinct  of  doing  what  I  don't 
want,  the  moment  my  back's  turned  ;  and  then  theie  has 
not  been  lifj-lit  enouofh  to  know  a  hawk  from  a  hand  saw, 
or  a  crow^  from  a  ptarmigan,  or  a  moor  from  a  meadow. 
But  how  much  better  your  eyes  must  be  when  you  can 
WTite  such  lovely  notes  ! 

I  don't  understand  how  the  strange  cat  came  to  love 
you  so  quickly,  after  one  dinner  and  a  rest  by  the  fire  ! 
I  should  hav^e  thought  an  ill  treated  and  outcast  animal 
would  have  regarded  everything  as  a  trap,  for  a  month 
at  least, — dined  in  tremors,  warmed  itself  with  its  back 
to  the  fire,  watciiing  the  door,  and  jumped  up  the  chim- 
ney if  you  step[)ed  on  the  rug. 

The  pheasant  had  come  from  Lachin-y-gair,  with  two 
others,  which  I've  been  eating  hot,  cold,  broiled,  and 
devilled,  and  with  your  oysters  for  lunch,     flattie.  Did- 


102  HORTUS   IKCLUSUS. 

die,  and  Joanie  have  line  times  of  it  togetlier,  they  say, 
and  that  I  ouglit  to  be  there  instead  of  here.  Do  you 
think  so  ? 


If  you  only  knew  the  good  your  peacock's  feathers 
have  done  me,  and  if  you  could  only  see  the  clever  draw- 
ing I'm  making,  of  one  from  the  blue  breast!  You 
know  what  lovely  little  fern  or  equisetum  stalks  of  sap- 
phire the  fikiments  are ;  they   beat  me  so,  but  they're 


coming  nice. 


Joanie  says  she  thinks  you  are  not  well ;  and  I'm  eas- 
ily frightened  about  yon,  because  you  never  take  any 
care  of  yourself,  and  will  not  do  what  Mary  or  Joan  or  I 
bid  you,  you  naughty  little  thing. 

Yon  won't  even  submit  quietly  to  my  publishing  ar- 
rangements, but  I'm  resolved  to  have  the  book  {''  Fron- 
des") remain  yours  altogether  ;  you  had  all  the  trouble 
with  it,  and  it  will  help  me  ever  so  much  more  than  I 
could  myself. 


That  is  so  intensely  true  what  you  say  about  Turner's 
work  being  like  nature's  in  its  slowness  and  tenderness. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  103 

I  always  think  of  him  as  a  great  natural  force  in  a  hu- 
man frame. 

So  nice  all  you  say  of  the  "  Ethics"  !  And  I'm  a 
monster  of  ingratitude,  as  bad  as  the  Drao:on  of  AYant- 
ley.  Don't  like  Dr.  Brown's  friend's  book  at  all.  It's 
neither  Scotch  nor  English,  nor  fish  nor  flesh,  and  it's 
tiresome. 

I'm  in  the  worst  humour  I've  been  in  this  month, 
which  is  saying  much  ;  and  have  been  writing  the 
wickedest  ''  Fors"  I  ever  wrote,  which  is  saying  more ; 
you  will  be  so  angry. 


I'm  so  very  glad  you  will  mark  the  bits  you  like,  but 
are  there  not  a  good  many  here  and  there  that  you  do7i''t 
like? — I  mean  that  sound  hard  or  ironical.  Please  don't 
mind  them.  They're  partly  because  I  never  count  on 
readers  who  will  I'eally  care  for  the  prettiest  things,  and 
it  gets  me  into  a  bad  habit  of  expressing  contempt  which 
is  not  indeed  any  natural  part  of  my  mind. 

It  pleases  me  especially  that  you  have  read  ''  The 
Queen  of  the  Air."  As  far  as  I  know,  myself,  of  my 
books,  it  is  the   most   useful   and  careful    piece  I  have 


X04  HORTUS  INCLtJSUS. 

done.  But  that  again — did  it  not  shock  you  to  have 
a  lieathen  goddess  so  much  believed  in  ?  (I've  believed 
in  English  ones  long  ago).  If  you  can  really  forgive 
nie  for  "  The  Queen  of  the  Air,"  there  are  all  sorts  of 
things  I  shall  come  begging  you  to  read  some  day. 


21st  July. 
I'm  always  looking  at  the  Thwaite,  and  thinking 
how  nice  it  is  that  you  are  there.  I  think  it's  a  little 
nice,  too,  that  Tm  within  sight  of  yon,  for  if  I  hadn't 
broken,  I  don't  know  how  msmj  not  exactly  promises, 
but  nearly,  to  be  back  at  Oxford  by  this  time,  I  might 
have  been  dragged  from  Oxford  to  London,  from  Lon- 
don to  France,  from  France  who  knows  where  ?  But 
I'm  here,  and  settled  to  produce,  as  soon  as  possible, 
the  following  works — 

1.  IS^ew  number  of  "  Love's  Meinie,"  on  the  Stormy 
Petrel. 

2.  New   ditto  of   "  Proserpina,"    on    sap,   pith,    and 
bark. 

3.  l^ew  ditto  of  ''  Deucalion,"  on  clouds. 

4.  New  "  Fors,"  on  new  varieties  of  young  ladies. 

5.  Two  new  numbers  of  "  Our  Fathers,"  on  Brune 


MISCELLANEOUS.  105 

haut.  and  Bertha  licr  niece,  and  St.  Augustine  and  St. 
Benedict. 

6.  Index  and  epilogue  to  four  Oxford  lectures. 

7.  Report  and  account  of   St.  George's  Guild. 

And  I've  had  to  turn  everything  out  of  every  shelf 
in  the  house,  for  mildew  and  moths. 

And  1  want  to  paint  a  little  bank  of  strawberry 
leaves. 

And  I've  to  get  a  year's  dead  sticks  out  of  the  wood, 
and  see  to  the  new  oat  field  on  the  moor,  and  prepare 
lectures  for  October ! 

I'm  so  idle.  I  look  at  the  hills  out  of  bed,  and  at 
the  pictures  off  the  sofa.  Let  us  both  be  useless  beings  ; 
let  us  be  butterflies,  grasshoppers,  lambs,  larks,  any- 
thing for  an  easy  life.  I'm  quite  horrified  to  see,  now 
that  these  two  have  come  back,  what  a  lot  of  books  I've 
written,  and  how  cruel  Fve  been  to  myself  and  every- 
body else  who  ever  has  to  read  them.  I'm  too  sleei)y 
to  finish  this  note. 


Idth  June. 
I  do  not  know  when  I  have  received,  or  how  I  coi/Id 
receive  so  great  an  encouragement  in  all  my  work,  as  1 


lOG  HORTUS   li^CLUSUS. 

do  in  liearing  that  yon,  after  all  jonr  long  love  and 
watchfulness  of  flowers,  have  yet  gained  pleasure  and 
insight  from  ''  Proserpina''  as  to  leaf  structure.  The 
examples  you  send  me  are  indeed  admirahle.  Can  you 
tell  me  the  exact  name  of  the  plant,  that  I  may  quote  it? 
Yes,  and  the  weather  also  is  a  great  blessing  to  me 
— so  lovely  this  morning. 


I  have  been  simply  ashamed  to  write  without  being 
able  to  say  I  was  coming ;  and  this  naughty  Joanie  has 
put  us  all  two  months  behindhand,  and  now  Brantwood 
still  seems  as  far  away  as  at  Florence.  (It  never  reallj 
seems  far  away,  anywhere.) 

But  you.  will  like  to  know  that  I'm  very  well,  and 
extremely  good,  and  writing  beautiful  new  notes  to 
'^  ModeiTi  Painters,"  and  getting  on  with  "  Our  Fathers." 
And  what  lovely  accounts  I  have  of  "  Frondes"  from 
Allen. 

I  reallj  think  that  one  book  has  made  all  our  busi- 
ness lively. 

And  I'm  so  delighted  with  the  new  brooch — the  one 
Mary  gave  to  Joan.     I  never  saw  a  more  lovely  pearl 


MISCELLANEOUS.  107 

9 

m  any  (jueen's  treasury,  nor  mure  exquisite  setting. 
Joan  and  I  have  no  end  of  pleasure  in  playing  with  it, 
and  I  vainly  try  to  summon  philosophy  enough  to  con- 
vince either  her  or  myself,  that  dew  is  better  than 
pearls  and  moss  than  emeralds. 

I  think  my  days  of  philosophy  must  be  over.  I  cer- 
tainly shall  not  have  enough  to  console  me,  if  I  don't 
get  to  Brantwood  soon.  The  fog  here  is  perpetual,  and 
I  can  only  see,  and  just  that,  where  the  edge  of  my 
paper  is  leaving  me  still  room  to  say  how  lovingly  and 
faithfully  I  am 

Yours,  etc. 


Ton  won't  refuse  to  give  house  room  or  even  parlour 
room  again  to  tlie  Jirst  volume  of  your  "  Stones."  It 
has  your  name  in  it  and  feather  sketches,  which  /  like 
the  memory  of  doing,  and  I  found  another  in  my  stores 
to  make  up  the  set.  I  have  to-day,  regretfully,  but  in 
proud  satisfaction,  sent  to  Mr.  Brown's  friend  Miss  Law- 
ley.  You  will  be  thinking  Fm  never  going  to  write 
any  neio  books  more,  I've  promised  so  long  and  (huie 
nothing.     But  Xo.  2  and  No.  4  of  "  Amiens"  have  been 


108  HOETUS  INCLIJSUg. 

going  on  at  once,  and  'No.  3  and  No.  4  of  "  Love's 
Meinie,"  and  No.  7  of  "  Proserpina"  had  to  be  done  in 
the  middle  of  all  four,  like  the  stamens  in  a  tormentilla. 
And  now  my  total  tormentilla  is  all  but  out.  But  "  ail- 
but"  is  a  long,  long  word  with  mj  printers  and  me. 
Still  something  has  been  done  every  day,  and  not  ill 
done  lately ;  and  Joanie  tells  me  your  friends  enjoyed 
their  little  visit,  as  I  did  seeing  them.  And  Joanie  is 
well,  and  literally  as  busy  as  a  bee,  and  sometimes  tum- 
bles down  at  last  on  the  sofa  just  at  bedtime,  like  the 
rather  humbly  bees  in  the  grass  when  they've  been  too 
busy.  And  Fm  pretty  well,  and  asking  young  ladies 
to  come  and  see  me. 


I'm  getting  steadily  better,  and  breathing  the  sunshine 
a  little  again  in  soul  and  lips.  But  T  always  feel  so 
naughty  after  having  had  morning  prayers,  and  that  the 
whole  house  is  a  sort  of  little  Bethel  that  I've  no  busi- 
ness in. 

I'm  reading  history  of  early  saints  too,  for  my  Amiens 
book,  and  feel  that  I  ought  to  be  scratched,  or  starved, 
or  boiled,  or  something  unpleasant,  and  I  don't  know  if 


MISCELLAN-EOUS.  lOO 

I'm  a  saint  or  a  sinner  in  tlie  least,  in  medijieval  language. 
How  did  saints  feel  themselves,  I  wonder,  about  tlieir 
saintsliip ! 


It  is  such  a  joj  to  hear  that  you  enjoy  anything  of 
mine,  and  a  double  joy  to  have  your  sympathy  in  my 
love  of  those  Italians.  How  I  wish  tliere  were  more  like 
yon !  What  a  happy  world  it  would  be  if  a  quarter  of 
the  people  in  it  cared  a  quarter  as  much  as  you  and  I  do, 
for  what  is  good  and  true! 

That  Nativity  is  the  deepest  of  all.  It  is  by  tlie 
master  of  Botticelli,  you  know ;  and  whatever  is  most 
sweet  and  tender  in  Botticelli  he  owes  to  Lippi. 

But,  do  yon  know,  I  quite  forget  about  Cordelia,  r.nd 
where  I  said  it!  ])Iease  keep  it  till  I  come.  I  hope  to  be 
across  to  see  yon  to-morrow. 

They've  been  doing  photographs  of  me  again,  and  Tm 
an  orang-outang  as  usual,  and  am  in  despair.  1  thought 
with  my  beard  I  was  beginning  to  be  just  the  least  bit 
nice  to  look  at.  I  would  give  np  half  my  books  for  a 
new  profile. 

What  a  lovely  day  since  twelve  o'chjck  !  I  never  saw 
the  lake  shore  more  heavenlv- 


110         '  HORTUS   INCLUSUS. 

I  am  verj  thankful  that  you  like  this  St.  Mark's  so 
much,  and  do  uot  feel  as  if  I  had  lost  power  of  mind.  I 
think  the  illness  has  told  on  me  more  in  laziness  than 
foolishness.  T  feel  as  if  there  was  as  much  m  me  as 
ever,  hut  it  is  too  much  trouble  to  say  it.  And  I  find 
myself  reconciled  to  staying  in  bed  of  a  morning  to  a 
quite  woeful  extent.  I  have  not  been  affected  so  much 
by  melancholy,  being  very  thankful  to  be  still  alive,  and 
to  be  able  to  give  pleasure  to  some  people, — foolish  little 
Joanies  and  Susies,  and  so  on. 

You  have  greatly  lielped  me  by  this  dear  little  note. 
And  the  bread's  all  right,  brown  again,  and  I'm  ready 
for  asparagus  of  any  stoutness,  there  !  Are  you  content? 
But  my  new  asparagus  is  quite  visible  this  year,  though 
how  much  would  be  wanted  for  a  dish  I  don't  venture  to 
count,  but  must  be  congratulated  on  its  definitely  stalky 
appearance. 

I  was  over  the  water  this  morning  on  school  commit- 
tee. How  bad  I  have  been  to  let  those  poor  children  be 
tormented  as  they  are  all  this  time !  I'm  going  to  try 
and  stop  all  the  spelling  and  counting  and  catechising, 
and  teach  them  only — to  watch  and  pray. 

The  oranpjes  make  me  think  I'm  in  a  castle  in  Spain  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS.  Ill 

Your  letters  always  warm  me  a  little,  not  with  laugh- 
ing, but  with  the  soft  glow  of  life,  for  I  live  mostly  with 
''ia  mort  dans  Tame."  (It  is  curious  that  the  French, 
whom  one  thinks  of  as  slight  and  frivolous,  have  this 
true  and  deep  expression  for  the  forms  of  sorrow  that 
kill,  as  opposed  to  those  that  discipline  and  strengthen.) 
And  your  words  and  thought  just  soften  and  warm  like 
west  wind. 

It  is  nice  being  able  to  please  you  with  what  I'm  writ- 
ing, and  that  you  can  tell  people  I'm  not  so  horrid. 

Here's  the  ''  Tors"  you  saw  the  proof  of,  but  this  isn't 
quite  right  yet. 

The  Willy  "  quotations  are  very  delightful.  Do  you 
know  tliat  naughty  "Cowley"  at  all?  There's  all  kind 
of  honey  and  strawberries  in  him. 

It  is  bitter  cold  here  these  last  days.  I  don't  stir 
out,  but  must  this  afternoon.  I've  to  go  out  tu  dinner 
and  work  at  the  Arundel  Society.  And  if  you  only 
knew  what  was  in  my  thougiits  you  would  be  so  sorry 
for  me,  that  I  can't  tell  you. 

*  Shakespeare. 


112  HORTUS  II^rCLUSUS. 

Corpus  Chrtsti  College,  Oxford. 

What  a  sad  little  letter !  written  in  that  returned 
darkness.  How  can  yoxi  ever  be  sad,  looldng  forward 
to  eternal  life  with  all  whom  you  love,  and  God  over 
all. 

It  is  only  so  far  as  I  lose  hold  of  that  hope,  that  any- 
thing is  ever  a  trial  to  me.  But  I  can't  think  how  I'm 
to  get  on  in  a  world  with  no  Venice  in  it. 

You  were  quite  right  in  thinking  I  would  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  lawyers,  l^ot  one  of  them  shall  ever 
have  so  much  as  a  crooked  sixpence  of  mine,  to  save 
him  from  being  hanged,  or  to  save  the  Lakes  from 
being  filled  up.  But  1  really  hope  there  may  be  feel- 
ing enough  in  Parliament  to  do  a  right  thing  without 
being  deafened  with  lawyers'  slang. 

I  have  never  thanked  you  for  the  snowdrops.  They 
bloomed  here  beautifully  for  four  days.  Then  I  had  to 
leave  them  to  go  and  lecture  in  London.  It  was  nice 
to  see  them,  but  my  whole  mind  is  set  on  finding 
whether  there  is  a  country  where  the  flowers  do  not 
fade.  Else  there  is  no  spring  for  me.  People  liked 
the  lecture,  and  so  many  more  wjinted  to  come  than 
could  get  in,  that  I  had  to  promise  to  give  another. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  113 

Here's  your  little  note  first  of  all.  And  if  you  only 
knew  liow  my  wristbands  are  i)laguino:  me  you'd  be 
very  sorry.  They're  too  much  starched,  and  vjould 
come  down  like  mittens  ;  and  now  I've  turned  theui 
u}),  they're  just  like  two  horrid  china  cups  upside  down, 
inside  my  coat,  and  I'm  afraid  to  write  for  fear  of 
breaking  them.  And  I've  a  week's  work  on  the  table, 
to  be  done  before  one  o'clock,  on  ])ain  of  upi'oar  from 
my  friends,  execution  from  my  enemies,  reproach  from 
my  lovers,  triumph  from  my  haters,  despair  of  Joanie, 
and — what  from  Susie  ?  I've  had  such  a  bad  niglit, 
too ;  woke  at  half-past  three  and  have  done  a  day's 
work  since  tlien — composing  my  lecture  for  March, 
and  thinking  what's  to  become  of  a  godson  of  mine 
whose — 

Well,  never  mind.  I  needn't  give  i/on  the  trouble, 
poor  little  Susie,  of  thinking  too.  I  wonder  if  that 
jackdaw  story  will  (Mune  to-dny. 

^J'his  must  1)0  folded  up  and  directed  all  right  at  once, 
or  I'm  sure  it  will  never  go.  Love  to  INFaJW,  vcrv  much, 
please,  and  three  times  over ;  I  nn'ssed  these  two  last 
times. 


114  HORTUS   INCLUSUC. 

I'm  going  to  Oxford  to-day  (D.Y.),  really  quite  well, 
and  rather  merry.  I  went  to  the  circus  with  my  new 
pet,  and  saw  lovely  riding  and  ball  play;  and  my  pet 
said  the  only  drawback  to  it  all,  was  that  she  couldn't 
sit  on  both  sides  of  me.  And  then  I  went  home  to  tea 
with  her,  and  gav'e  mamma,  who  is  Evangelical,  a  beanti- 
ful  lecture  on  the  piety  of  dramatic  entertainments, 
which  made  her  laugh  whether  she  would  or  no ;  and 
then  I  had  my  Christmas  dinner  in  advance  with  Joanie 
and  Arfie  and  Stacy  Marks,  and  his  wife  and  two  pretty 
daughters,  and  I  had  six  kisses — two  for  Christmas,  two 
for  New  Year's  Day,  and  two  for  Twelfth  Night — and 
everybody  was  in  the  best  humour  with  everybody  else. 
And  now  my  room  is  ankle  deep  in  unanswered  letters, 
mostly  on  business,  and  I'm  going  to  shovel  them  up 
and  tie  them  in  a  parcel  labelled  "  JSTeeding  particular 
attention" ;  and  then  that  will  be  put  into  a  cupboard 
in  Oxford,  and  I  shall  feel  that  everything's  been  done 
in  a  business-like  way. 

That  badger's  beautiful.  I  don't  think  there's  any 
need  for  such  beasts  as  that  to  turn  Christians. 


MISrKLLAXEOrS.  115 

I  am  indeed  most  tliankful  you  are  well  again,  tlioiigh 
I  never  looked  on  that  deafness  very  seriously  ;  but  if 
you  lil'e  bearing  watches  tick,  and  boots  creak,  and 
plates  clatter,  so  be  it  to  you,  for  many  and  many  a 
year  to  come.  I  think  I  should  so  like  to  be  deaf, 
mostly,  not  expected  to  answer  anybody  in  society, 
never  startled  by  a  baifg,  never  tortured  by  a  railroad 
whistle,  never  hearing  the  nasty  cicadas  in  Italy,  nor  a 
child  cry,  nor  an  owl.  JS^othing  but  a  nice  whisper  into 
my  ear,  by  a  pretty  girl.  Ah  well,  I'm  very  glad  I  can 
chatter  to  you  with  my  weak  voice,  to  my  heart's  con- 
tent ;  and  yoii  must  come  and  see  me  soon  now.  All 
tliat  vou  sav  of  ''  Proserpina"  is  joyful  to  me.  What 
a  Susie  you  are,  drawing  like  that !  and  I'm  sure  you 
know  Latin  better  than  I  do. 


I  am  better,  but  not  right  yet.  There  is  no  fear  of 
sore  throat,  I  think,  l)ut  some  of  prolonged  tooth  worry. 
It  is  more  stomachic  than  coldic,  I  believe,  and  those  tea 
cakes  are  too  crisply  seductive.  Wliat  c(i)i  it  be,  tliat 
subtle  treachery  that  lurks  in  tea  cakes,  and  is  wh(jlly 
absent  in  the  rude  honestv  of  toast  ? 


116  HORTUS   IITCLUSUS. 

The  metaphysical  effect  of  tea  cake  last  night  Was, 
that  I  had  a  perilous  and  wearj  journey  in  a  desert,  in 
which  I  had  to  dodge  hostile  tribes  round  the  corners  of 
pyramids. 

A  very  sad  letter  from  Joanie  tells  me  she  was  going 
to  Scotland  last  night,  at  which  I  am  not  only  very 
sorry  but  very  cross. 

A  chirping  cricket  on  the  hearth  advises  me  to  keep 
my  heart  up.  Foolish  hedgehog,  not  to  come  for  that 
egg.  Don't  let  Abigail  be  cast  down  about  her  tea 
cakes.  An  "  honest"  egg  is  just  as  destructive  of  my 
peace  of  mind. 


Your  happy  letters  (with  the  sympathetic  misery  of 
complaint  of  dark  days)  have  cheered  me  as  much  as 
anything  could  do. 

The  sight  of  one  of  my  poor  "  Companions  of  St. 
George,"  who  has  sent  me,  not  a  widow's  but  a  parlour- 
maid's (an  old  schoolmistress)  "  all  her  living,"  and 
whom  I  found  last  night,  dying,  slowly  and  quietly,  in  a 
damp  room,  just  the  size  of  your  study  (which  her  land- 
lord won't  mend  the  roof  of),  by  the  light  of  a  single  tal- 


MISCELLANEOUS.  117 

low  ciDclle — civilly,  I  sav,  sloidy^  of  consumption,  not 
yet  neai*  t]:e  end,  but  contemplating'  it  with  sorrow, 
mixed  partly  wiih  feai',  Itst  she  should  not  have  done  all 
she  could  for  her  children  ! 

The  sight  of  all  this  and  my  own  shameful  comforts, 
three  wax  candles  and  blazing  tire  and  dry  roof,  and 
Susie  and  Joauie  for  friends ! 

Oh  me,  Susie,  what  Is  to  become  of  me  in  the  next 
world,  who  have  in  this  life  all  n^y  good  things ! 


What  a  sweet,  careful,  tender  letter  this  is !  I  re-en- 
close  it  at  once  for  fear  of  mischief,  thougli  I've  scarcely 
read,  for  indeed  my  eyes  are  weary,  but  I  see  what  gen- 
tle mind  it  means. 

Yes,  you  will  love  and  rejoice  in  your  Chaucer  more 
and  more.  Fancy,  I've  never  time,  now,  to  look  at  him, 
— obliired  toieid  even  my  Ilomcr  and  ShnkoF^p^nre  p^  a 
scraiiibh',  half  missing  the  sense, — the  business  of  life 
disturbs  one  so. 


Will  you  please  tha?d<  Miss  Watson  for  the  ''  (Juecn's 
Wake."     I  should   like  to  tell  lier  about   II(irL'"'s  visit  to 


118  HORTUS   INCLUSUS. 

Heme  Hill,  and  my  dog  Dash's  reception  of  liim;  but 
I'm  never  pleased  with  the  Siiepherd's  bearing  to  Sir  W. 
Scott,  as  one  reads  it  in  "  Lockhart." 

There's  no  fear  of  Susie's  notes  ever  being  less  bright 
as  long  as  she  remains  a  child,  and  it's  a  long  while  jet 
to  look  forward  to. 

I  had  such  a  nice  dinner  all  alone  with  Joanie  jester- 
day,  and  Sarah  waiting.  Joanie  coughed  and  startled 
me.  I  accused  her  of  having  a  cold.  To  .  defend  her- 
self she  said  (the  mockerj),  Perhaps  she  oughtn't  to  kiss 
me.  I  said,  "  Couldn't  Sarah  *  trj  first,  and  see  if  anj 
harm  comes  of  it  ?"  (Sarah  highlj  amused.)  For  good- 
ness' sake  don't  ttll  Kate. 

I've  onlj  a  crushed  bit  of  paper  to  express  mj  crushed 
heart  upon.     It's  the  best ! 

That  you  should  be  thinking,  designing,  undermining, 
as  Mrs.  Somebody  sajs  in  that  disgusting  *'  Mill  on  the 
Floss,"  to  send  to  London  for  port.  And  m?/  port  get- 
ting crustj,  dustj,  cobwebbj,  and  generallj  like  its  mas- 
ter, just  because  it's  no  use  to  nobodj.     /  don't  drink 

*  Our  Herue  Hill  parlour-maid  for  four  years.  Oue  of  quite  the 
brightest  and  handsomest  types  of  English  beauty  I  ever  saw,  either 
in  life,  or  fancied  in  painting. 


MISCELLAiq-EOUS. 


119 


it ;  Joan  don't ;  Arfie's  always  stuck  up  with  liis  claret 
and  French  vinegaret  things  (gave  him  all  his  rheuma- 
tism, /  saj) ;  and  now  here's  my  Susie  sending  to  Lon- 
don, and  passing  me  by  and  my  sorrowful  bin.  I 
didn't  think  she'd  have  bin  and  done  it.  Even  the  Al- 
pine plants  of  which  I  hear,  as  darlings,  don't  at  present 
console  me. 

Just  you  try  such  a  trick  again,  that's  all ! 


IIerne  Hill. 
Here's  your  letter  first  thing  in  the  morning,  while 
I'm  sip[)ing  my  coffee  in  the  midst  of  such  confusion 


r 


H^ 


3^ 


:j)         •-: 


H 


as  I've  not  often  achieved  at  my  best.     The  little  room, 
which  1  think  is  as  nearly  as  possible  the  size  of  your 


120  HORTLTS   INCLUSUS. 

study,  but  witb  a  lower  roof,  lias  to  begin  witb — A, 
m)'  bed  ;  B,  my  basin  stand ;  C,  my  table  ;  D,  my  cbest 
of  drawers ;  thus  arranged  in  relation  to  E,  tbe  window 
(which  has  still  its  dark  bars  to  prevent  the  little  boy 
getting  out) ;  F,  the  fireplace ;  G,  the  golden  or  min- 
eral ogical  cupboard ;  and  H,  the  grand  entrance.  The 
two  dots  witb  a  back  represent  my  chair,  wliicb  is  prop- 
erly solid  and  not  ?/72-easy.  Thi*ee  otliers  of  lighter 
disposition  find  place  somewbere  about.  These  with 
the  chimney-piece  and  drawer's  bead  are  covered,  or 
rather  heaped,  with  all  they  can  carry,  and  the  morning 
is  just  looking  in,  astonished  to  see  what  is  expected 
of  it,  and  smiling — (yes,  I  may  fairly  say  it  is  smiling, 
for  it  is  cloudless  for  its  part  above  the  smoke  of  the 
borizon  line) — at  Sarab's  hope  and  mine,  of  ever  getting 
that  room  into  order  by  twelve  o'clock.  The  cbimney- 
piece  with  its  bottles,  spoons,  lozenge  boxes,  matches, 
candlesticks,  and  letters  jammed  behind  them,  does  ap- 
pear to  me  entirely  hopeless,  and  this  the  moi'e  because 
Sarah,  wben  I  tell  ber  to  take  a  bottle  away  that  has 
a  mixture  in  it  wbicli  I  don't  like,  looks  me  full  in  the 
face,  and  says  "  she  wonH^  because  I  may  want  it."  I 
submit,  because  it  is  so  nice  to  get  Sarah  to  look  one 


MISCELLANEOUS.  121 

full  in  tlie  face.  She  really  is  the  prettiest,  round  faced, 
and  round  eyed  girl  I  ever  saw,  and  it's  a  great  shame 
she  should  be  a  housemaid  ;  only  I  wish  she  would  take 
those  bottles  away.  She  says  I'm  looking  better  to  day, 
and  I  think  I'm  feeling  a  little  bit  more, — no,  I  mean, 
a  little  bit  less  demoniacal.  But  I  still  can  do  that 
jackdaw  beautifully. 


I  am  quite  sure  you  would  have  felt  like  Albert 
Diirer,  had  you  gone  on  painting  wrens. 

The  way  Nature  and  Heaven  waste  the  gifts  and 
souls  they  give  and  make,  passes  all  wonder.  You 
might  have  done  anything  you  chose,  only  you  were 
too  modest. 

1^0,  I  never  will  call  you  my  dear  lady ;  certainly, 
if  it  comes  to  that,  something  too  dreadful  will  follow. 


That  is  so  very  nice,  isn't  it,  about  the  poor  invalid 
and  "Frondes."  It  is  terrible  that  doctors  should  say 
such  things,  but  on  the  wliole  when  they  feel  them 
strongly,  they  should  speak,  else  it  would  be  impossible 


122  HOETUS   IKCLUSUS. 

for  them    to    give    trustworthy   comfort    and    healing 
hope. 

I  wish  that  peacock  of  yours  would  teach  me  to 
brush  my  hair  before  I  come  to  dinner,  for  I  am, 
though 

Ever  your  loving 

J.  E., 
not  fit  to  be  seen  lately,  with  fighting  midges  in  my 
hair. 

I  am  most  interested  in  your  criticism  of  "  Queen 
Mary."  I  have  not  read  it,  but  the  choice  of  subject 
is  entirely  morbid  and  wrong,  and  I  am  sure  all  you 
say  must  be  true.  The  form  of  decline  which  always 
comes  on  mental  power  of  Tennyson's  passionately  sen- 
sual character,  is  always  of  seeing  ugly  things,  a  kind 
of  delirium  tremens.  Turner  had  it  fatally  in  his  last 
years. 

I  am  so  glad  you  enjoy  writing  to  me  more  than  any 
one  else.  The  book  you  sent  me  of  Dr.  John  Brown's 
on  books,  has  been  of  extreme  utility  to  me,  and  con- 
tains matter  of  the  deepest  interest.  Did  you  read  it 
yourself?     If  not  I  must  lend  it  to  you. 

I  am  so    glad   also  to  know  of   your   happiness    in 


Cliaucer.     Don't   linrry  in  reading.     I  will  get  you  iin 
edition  for  your  own,  that  you  may  mark  it  in  peace. 


I  send  you  two  books,  neither  I  fear  very  amusing, 
but  on  my  word,  I  think  books  are  always  dull  when 
one  rCally  most  wants  them.  No,  other  people  don't 
feel  it  as  you  and  I  do,  nor  do  the  dogs  and  ponies,  but 
oughtn't  we  to  be  thankful  that  we  do  feel  it.  The 
thing  I  fancy  we  are  both  wanting  in,  is  a  right  power 
of  enjoying  the  past.  What  sunshine  there  lias  been 
even  in  this  sad  yearl  I  have  seen  beauty  enough  in 
one  afternoon,  not  a  fortnight  ago,  to  last  me  for  a  year 
if  I  could  rejoice  in  memory. 

But  I  believe  things  are  a  little  better  at  Seascale. 
Arfie's  gone  off  there,  but  I  have  a  painter  friend,  Mr. 
Goodwin,  con^.ing  to  keep  me  company,  and  Tm  a  little 
content  in  this  worst  of  rainy  days,  in  hopes  there  may 
be  now  some  clearing  for  him. 

Our  little  kittens  pass  the  days  of  their  youth  up 
against  the  wall  at  the  back  of  the  house,  where  the  heat 
of  the  oven  comes  through.  What  an  existence  I  and  yet 
with  all  my  indoor  advantages 

I  am  yuur  sorrowful  and  repining 

J.  K. 


124  HORTUS  i:n'clusus. 

I  am  entirely  grateful  for  your  letter,  and  for  all  the 
sweet  feelings  expressed  in  it,  and  am  entirely  reverent 
of  the  sorrow  wliicli  you  feel  at  my  speaking  thus.  If 
only  all  were  like  you.  But  the  chief  sins  and  evils  of 
the  day  are  caused  by  the  Pharisees,  exactly  as  in  the 
time  of  Christ,  and  "  they  make  broad  their  phylacteries" 
in  the  same  way,  the  Bible  superstitiously  read,  becom- 
ing the  authority  for  every  error  and  heresy  and  cruelty. 
To  make  its  readers  understand  that  the  God  of  their 
own  day  is  as  living,  and  as  able  to  speak  to  them 
directly  as  ever  in  the  days  of  *Isaiah  and  St.  John, 
and  that  He  would  now  send  messas^es  to  His  Seven 
Churches,  if  the  Churches  would  hear,  needs  stronger 
words  than  any  I  have  yet  dared  to  use,  against  the 
idolatry  of  the  historical  record  of  His  messages  long 
ago,  perverted  by  men's  forgetfulness,  and  confused  by 
mischance  and  misapprehension ;  and  if  instead  of  the 
Latin  form  "  Scripture"  we  put  always  "  writing"  instead 
of  •'  written"  or  ''  write"  in  one  place,  and  "  Scripture,'' 
as  if  it  meant  our  English  Bible,  in  another,  it  w^ould 
make  such  a  difference  to  our  natural  and  easy  under- 
standing the  range  of  texts. 

The  peacock's  feathers  are  marvellous.    I  am  very  glad 


MISCELLANEOUS.  125 

to  see  them.  I  never  had  any  of  their  downy  ones  be- 
fore.    My  eoni])linients  to  the  bird,  upon  them,  please. 

I  have  liad  a  tirinii:  forenoon  in  tlie  house  with  dark 
air,  and  must  2:0  out;  and  po(>r  Susie  will  not  only 
scarce  find  a  turned  leaf  but  an  empty  line  in  the 
unturned  one. 

But  children  always  like  to  have  letters  about  any- 
thing. 

I  found  a  strawberry  growing  just  to  please  itself,  as 
red  as  a  ruby,  high  up  on  Yewdale  crag  yesterday,  in  a 
little  corner  of  rock  all  its  own  ;  so  I  left  it  to  enjoy 
itself.  It  seemed  as  happy  as  a  lamb,  and  no  more 
meant  to  be  eaten. 

Yes,  those  are  all  sweetest  bits  from  Chaucer  (the  pine 
new  to  me) ;  your  own  copy  is  being  bound.  And  all 
the  Richard, — but  you  uiust  not  copy  out  the  Kichard 
bits,  for  I  like  all  mv  Ilichard  alike  from  bcirinnino:  to 
end.  Yes,  my  "seed  pearl''  bit  is  ])retty,  I  admit;  it 
was  like  the  thing.  The  cascades  here,  Fm  afraid,  come 
down  more  like  seed  oatmeal. 


Kow  it's  very  naughty  of  you,  Susie,  to  think  every- 
body else  would  have  ate  that  strawberry.     JVIr.  Severn 


1^6  nORTUS   IKCLUSUS. 

and  Mr.  Patmore  were  both  with  me;  and  when  /said,, 
"Now,  I  doD't  believe  three  other  people  could  be  found 
who  wonld  let  that  alone,"  Mr.  Patmore  was  quite 
shocked,  and  said,  "  I'm  quite  sure  nobody  but  yoit 
would  have  thought  of  eating  it !" 

Ever  your  loving,  gormandising  (Patmore  knows  me !) 

J.  R. 


Actually  I've  never  thanked  you  for  that  exquisite 
cheese.  The  mere  look  of  it  puts  one  in  heart  like  a 
fresh  field.  I  never  tasted  anything  so  perfect  in  its 
purity  of  cream  nature.  The  Chaucer  bits,  next  to  the 
cheese,  are  delicious,  too. 

About  the  railroad  circular,  I  knew  and  know  nothing 
but  that  I  signed  my  name.  They  may  have  printed 
said  circular  perhaps. 

At  all  events,  irost  thankful  should  I  be  to  any  one 
who  would  help  in  such  cause.  I'm  at  work  on  a  piece 
of  moss  again,  far  better,  I  hope  likely  to  be,  than  the 
one  you  saw. 

I  believe  in  my  hasty  answer  to  your  first  kind  letter 
I  never  noticed  what  you  said  about  Aristophanes.     If 


MISCELLAXEOUS.  127 

you  will  indeed  send  me  some  notes  of  the  passages  that 
interest  yon  in  the  "Birds,"  it  will  not  only  be  very 
pleasant  to  me,  but  quite  seriously  useful,  for  the 
"  Birds"  have  always  been  to  me  so  mysterious  in  that 
comedy,  that  I  have  never  got  the  good  of  it  which  I 
know  is  to  be  had.  The  careful  study  of  it  put  off  from 
day  to  day,  was  likely  enough  to  fall  into  the  great 
region  of  my  despair,  unless  you  had  chanced  thus  to 
remind  me  of  it. 

Please,  if  another  chance  of  good  to  me  come  in  your 
way,  in  another  brown  spotty-purple  peacock's  feather, 
will  you  yet  send  it  to  me,  and  I  will  be  always  your 
most  grateful  and  faithful  J.  R. 


Herxe  Hill. 

It  is  so  very  sweet  and  good  of  you  to  write  such 
lovely  play  letters  to  Joanie  and  me  ;  they  delight  and 
comfort  us  more  than  I  can  tell  you. 

What  translation  of  Aristophanes  is  that?  I  must 
get  it.  I've  lost  I  can't  tell  you  how  much  knowledge 
and  j)owcr  thi'oiiiili  false  pride  in  refusing  t(t  i-cad  ti'ans- 
lations,  though  I  couldiTt  lead  the  original  without  more 
trouble  and  time  than  I  could  spare;  nevertheless,  you 


128  HORTUS   INCLUSUS. 

must  not  thiiik  this  Englisli  gives  yon  a  true  idea  of  the 
original.  The  English  is  much  more  "  English"  in  its 
temper  than  its  words.  Aristophanes  is  far  more  dry, 
severe,  and  concentrated ;  his  v^ords  are  fewer,  and  have 
fuller  flavour ;  this  English  is  to  him  what  currant  jellj  is 
to  currants.     But  it's  immensely  useful  to  me. 

Yes,  that  is  very  sweet  about  the  kissing.  I  have 
done  it  to  rocks  often,  seldom  to  flowers,  not  being  sure 
that  they  would  like  it. 

I  recollect  giving  a  very  reverent  little  kiss  to  a  young 
sapling  that  was  behaving  beautifully  in  an  awkward 
chink,  between  two  great  big  ones  that  were  ill-treating 
it.  Poor  me,  (I'm  old  enough,  I  hope,  to  write  grammar 
my  own  way,)  my  own  little  self,  meantime,  never  by 
any  chance  got  a  kiss  when  I  wanted  it, — and  the  better 
I  behaved,  the  less  chance  I  had,  it  seemed. 


I  never  thought  the  large  packet  was  from  you  ;  it 
was  thrown  aside  with  the  rest,  till  evening,  and  only 
opened  then  by  chance.  I  was  greatly  grieved  to  find 
what  I  had  thus  left  unacknowledged.  The  drawings 
are  entirely  beautiful  and   wonderful,  but,  like  all  the 


MISCELLAXEOUS.  1^20 

good  work  done  in  those  bygone  days,  (Donovan's  own 
book  being  of  inestimable  excellence  in  this  kind,)  they 
affect  nie  witli  profound  melancholy  in  the  tlionght  of 
the  loss  to  the  entire'  body  of  the  nation  of  all  this  perfect 
artistic  capacity,  and  sweet  will,  for  want  of  acknowledg- 
ment, system,  and  direction.  I  must  write  a  careful  pas- 
sage on  this  matter  in  my  new  Elements  of  Drawing. 
Your  drawings  have  been  sent  me  not  by  you,  but  by 
my  mistress  Fors,  for  a  text.  It  is  no  wonder,  when  you 
can  draw  like  this,  that  you  care  so  much  for  all  lovely 
nature.  But  I  shall  be  ashamed  to  show  you  my  pea- 
cock's feather  ;  I've  sent  it,  however. 

What  a  naughty  child  you  are  to  pick  out  all  that  was 
useless  and  leave  all  that's  practical  and  useful  for 
"Frondes"!  You  ought  to  have  pounced  on  all  the 
best  bits  on  drawing  from  nature ! 


It  is  very  sweet  of  you  to  give  me  your  book,  but  I 
accept  it  at  once  most  thankfully.  It  is  the  best  type  I 
can  show  of  the  perfect  work  of  an  Englisli  hidy  in  her 
own  simple  peace  of  enjoyment  and  natiii'al  gift  of  ti-iitli, 
in  her  sight  and   in  her  mind.     And  many  [)retty  things 


130  HORTUS   INCLUSUS. 

are  in  my  mind  and  heart  about  it,  if  my  hands  were 
not  too  cold  to  shape  words  for  them.  The  book  shall 
be  kept  with  mj  Bewicl\?  ;  it  is  in  nowise  inferior  to 
them  in  fineness  of  work.  The  finished  proof  of  next 
'*  Proserpina"  will,  I  think,  be  sent  me  by  Saturday's 
post.  Much  more  is  done,  but  this  number  was  hindered 
by  the  revisal  of  the  Dean  of  Christ  Church,  which  puts 
me  at  rest  about  mistakes  in  my  Greek. 


It  is  a  great  joy  to  me  that  you  like  the  Wordsworth 
bits ;  there  are  worse  coming  (unless  Diddie,  perhaps, 
begs  them  off)  ;  but  I've  been  put  into  a  dreadful  pas- 
sion by  two  of  my  cleverest  girl  pupils  "  going  off 
pious"  !  It's  exactly  like  a  nice  pear  getting  "  sleepy"  ; 
and  I'm  pretty  nearly  in  the  worst  temper  I  can  be  in, 
for  W.  W.  But  what  are  these  blessed  feathers? 
Everything  that's  best  of  grass  and  clouds  and  chryso- 
prasg.  What  incomparable  little  creature  wears  such 
things,  or  lets  fall?  The  "  fringe  of  flame"  is  Carlyle's, 
not  mine,  but  we  feel  so  much  alike,  that  you  may  often 
mistake  one  for  the  other  now. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  131 

Yoli  cannot  in  the  least  tell  what  a  help  you  are  to 
me,  in  caring  so  much  for  my  things  and  seeing  what  I 
try  to  do  in  them.  You  are  quite  oue  of  a  thousand 
for  sympathy  with  everybody,  and  oue  of  the  ten  times 
ten  thousand,  for  special  sympathy  with  my  own  feel- 
ings and  tries.  Yes,  that  second  column  is  rather  nicely 
touched,  tliough  I  say  it,  for  hands  aud  eyes  of  sixty- 
two  ;  but  when  once  the  wind  stops  I  hope  to  do  a  bit 
of  primrosey  ground  that  will  be  richer. 


Here,  not  I,  but  a  thing  with  a  dozen  of  colds  in  its 
head,  am ! 

I  caught  one  cold  on  Wednesday  last,  another  on 
Thursday,  two  on  Friday,  four  on  Saturday,  and  one  at 
every  station  between  this  and  Ingleborongh  on  ]\lon- 
day.  I  never  was  in  such  ignoble  misery  of  cold.  I've 
no  cough  to  speak  of,  nor  anything  worse  than  usnal 
in  the  way  of  sneezing,  but  my  hands  are  cold,  my 
pulse  nowhere,  my  nose  tickles  and  wrings  me,  niy  ears 
sing — like  kettles,  my  mouth  has  no  taste,  my  heart  no 
hope  of  ever  being  good  for  anything,  any  more.  I 
never  passed  such  a  wretched  morning  by  my  own   lire- 


132  HORTUS   IXCLUSUS. 

side  in  all  mv  days,  and  I've  quite  a  fiendish  pleasure 
in  telling  you  all  tins,  and  thinking  how  miserable  you'll 
be  too.  Oh  me,  if  I  ever  get  to  feel  like  myself  again, 
won't  I  take  care  of  myself. 


Seven  of  the  eleven  colds  are  better,  but  the  other 
four  are  worse,  and  they  were  the  worst  before,  and  I'm 
such  a  wreck  and  rag  and  lump  of  duet  being  made 
mud  of,  that  I'm  ashamed  to  let  the  maids  bring  me 
my  dinner. 

Your  contemptible,  miserable,  beyond   pitiable,  past 

deplorable 

J.  E. 


The  little  book  is  very  lovely,  all  of  it  that  is  your 
own.  The  religion  of  it  you  know  is,  anybody's, 
what  my  poor  little  Susie  was  told  when  she  was  a  year 
or  two  younger  than  she  is  now. 

AYhat  we  should  all  try  to  do,  is  to  find  out  some- 
thing certain  about  God,  for  ourselves. 


MISCELLAXEOUS.  133 

Tlie  featliers  nearly  made  me  fly  away  from  all  my 
Psalters  and  Exoduses,  to  yon,  and  my  dear  peacocks. 
I  wonder  when  Solomon  got  his  ivory  and  apes  and 
peacocks,  whether  he  ever  had  time  to  look  at  them. 
He  couldn't  always  be  ordering  children  to  be  chopped 
in  two.  Alas,  I  suppose  his  wisdom,  in  England  of  to- 
day, would  have  been  taxed  to  find  out  which  mother 
lied  in  saying  which  child  wasn't  hers  ! 

But  you  lolll  like  my  psalter,  I'm  sure.  Diddie 
wouldn't  copy  the  wickedest  bits,  so  I  was  obliged  to 
leave  them  out ! 

Oh  dear,  I  feel  so  wicked  to-day,  I  could  even  tease 
you^  by  telling  you  Joanie  was  better,  and  how  it  came 
to  pass.  I  mustn't  say  more,  but  that  I  love  you  ever 
so  much,  and  am  ever,  etc. 

I  began  this  note  especially  to  tell  you  how  delighted 
I  was  with  your  idea  of  the  flower  show;  how  good  it 
will  be  for  the  people,  and  how  nice  for  you  ! 

I've  been  writing  to  Miss  R.  again,  and  Miss  L.'s  quite 
right  to  stay  at  home.  "  She  thinks  I  have  an  eagle's 
eye."  Well,  what  else  should  1  liavc,  in  (\\\\  tiine^  to- 
gether with  my  cat's  eye  in  the  dark  \  But  you  may 
tell  her  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  my  eyes  were  no  better 


134  IIORTUS  IXCLCSUS. 

than  eaglesM      "Dotli  the  eagle  know  what  is  in  the 
pit?"    /do. 


I'm  only  going  away  for  Sunday,  coming  back  on  the 
Monday,  and  going  to  stay  for  a  week  longer.  Mr. 
MacD.  has  begun  a  pretty  drawing  of  the  study  (and 
really  depends  on  my  assistant  criticism)  ;  and  Diddie,  I 
think,  will  enjoy  her  dinner  with  you  to-morrow  better 
than  if  1  had  gone  for  good  and  all ;  and  I  think  I  shall 
enjoy  my  Sunday  at  Sheffield,  if  I  had  gone  for  evil  and 
all.  I've  turned  the  page  to  say  I'm  rather  pleased  with 
that  trans-mutation  (what  a  stupid  thing  of  me  to  divide 
that  stupid  word)  of  "  for  good  and  all,"  mockingest  of 
common  phrases,  even  if  one  were  going  aw^ay  for  a 
honeymoon  it  would  only  be  for  better  or  worse, — or 
stay,  perhaps  it  means  for  good  and  all  else.  One  uses  it 
too  without  the  all, — "  for  good"  meaning  that  nothing 
that  isn't  good  can  be  eternal.  I  am  puzzled ;  but  I  be- 
lieve I'm  coming  back  for  good  anyhow.  And,  there 
now,  I've  to  turn  the  page  once  more,  and,  I  was  going 
to  say  something  stupid  about  goodbye,  a  word  that 
makes  me  shudder  from  head  to  foot 


MISCELLANEOUS.  135 

I've  found  anotlier  stone  for  yon,  lapis  lazuli,  wliicli 
nev^er  fades,  and  is  heaven  colour  to  all  time. 


That  you  may  not  make  a  complete  infidel  of  yourself 
with  those  insidious  ''  Arabian  Kights,"  or  a  complete 
philosopher  of  yourself,  which  would  be  unbecoming  at 
your  age,  with  the  "  Council  of  Friends"  I  send  you  a 
Western  book  of  a  character  at  once  prosaic,  graceful, 
and  simple,  which  will  disenchant  and  refresh  you  at 
once.  I  will  find  a  second  volume  before  you  have 
finished  tlie  first,  and  meanwhile  you  must  come  and 
choose  the  next  book  that  is  to  be,  out  of  my  lil)rary, 
which  you  never  condescend  to  look  at  when  you're 
here. 

By  hook  or  by  crook,  by  swans  and  cygnets,  by  Car- 
paccio  and  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  I'll  come  to  see  yuu, 
please,  to-day. 

Fm  really  not  quite  so  bad  all  over,  yet;  and  I've 
written  things  lately  with  much  in  them  tliat  will  com- 
fort yon  for  me,  though  I  can't  quite  comfoi-t  myself. 
And  ril  come  often  to  1h'  lectured  ;  and  I'm  not  reading 
novels  just  now,  but  only  birds  and  beasts. 


136  nORTUS   INCLUSUS. 

I  want  to  know  the  names  of  all  jour  five  cats ;  they 
were  all  at  the  door  yesterday,  and  I  sliould  Lave  made 
six,  but  tliey  ran  away. 

I  send  two  of  Miss  Kate's  books  for  Mary  and  you  to 
keep  as  long  as  you  choose.  Miss  Arnold  is  coming  to- 
morrow, but  I  hope  to  get  to  the  Thwaite  at  half-past 
twelve.  Only  my  morning  goes  just  now  like  the  flash 
of  a  Christmas  cracker. 


I'm  better ;  I  trust  you  are !  It  is  a  day  at  last ;  and 
the  flowers,  are  all  off  their  heads  for  joy.  I've  been 
writing  some  pretty  things  too,  and  thinking  naughty 
ones,  as  I  do  when  I'm  pretty  well. 

But  I've  lost  my  voice  and  can't  sing  them! 


Yes,  of  course  keep  that  book,  any  time  you  like ;  but 
I  think  you'll  find  most  of  it  unreadable.  If  you  do  get 
through  it,  you'll  have  to  tell  me  all  about  it,  you  know, 
for  Pve  never  read  a  word  of  it  except  just  the  plums 
here  and  there. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  137 

Publishers  are  bmtes,  and  always  spoil  one's  books,  and 
then  say  it's  o^ir  fault  if  tliev  don't  sell ! 

Yes,  that  is  a  lovely  description  of  a  picture.  All  the 
same  I  believe  the  picture  itself  was  merely  modern  sen- 
sationalism. 

Thej  can't  do  witliout  death  nowadays,  not  because 
they  want  to  know  how  to  die,  but  because  they're  too 
stupid  to  live. 

I  hope  you  will  be  comforted  in  any  feeling  of  languor 
or  depression  in  yourself  by  hearing  that  I  also  am 
wholly  lack  lusti'ous,  (^/<?pressed,  e^/^pressed,  6'6'?yq)ressed, 
and  fZ6>z^;2  pressed  by  a  quite  countless  pressgang  of 
despondencies,  humilities,  remorses,  shamefacednesses,  all 
overnesses,  all  undernesses,  sicknesses,  dulnesses,  dark- 
nesses, sulkinesses,  and  everything  that  rhymes  to  less- 
ness  and  distress,  and  that  I'm  sure  you  and  I  are  at 
present  the  mere  targets  of  the  darts  of  the — ,  etc.,  etc., 
and  Mattie's  waiting  and  mustn't  be  loaded  with  more 
sorrow;  but  I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am  to  break  my 
promise  to-day,  but  it  would  not  be  safe  for  mc  to  come. 


138  HORTUS   INCLUSUS. 

I'll  look  at  the  dial  to  oiglit.  What  a  cruel  thing  of 
you  to  make  me  "  look  upon  it " !  I'm  not  gone  to 
Venice  yet,  but  thinking  of  it  hourly.  I'm  very  nearly 
done  with  toasting  my  bishop  ;  he  just  wants  another 
turn  or  two,  and  then  a  little  buttero 


I'm  a  little  better,  but  can't  laugh  much  yet,  and  won't 
cry  if  I  can  help  it.  Yet  it  always  makes  me  nearly  cry, 
to  hear  of  those  poor  working  men  trying  to  express 
themselves  and  nobody  ever  teaching  them,  nor  anybody 
in'^  all  England,  knowing  that  painting  is  an  art^  and 
sculpture  also,  and  that  an  untaught  man  can  no  more 
carve  or  paint,  than  play  the  fiddle.  All  efforts  of  the 
kind,  mean  simply  that  we  have  neither  master  nor 
scholars  in  any  rank  or  any  place.  And  I,  also,  what 
have /done  for  Coniston  schools  yet?  I  don't  deserve 
an  oyster  shell,  far  less  an  oyster. 


KiRBY  Lonsdale, 

Thursday  evening. 
You  won't  get  this  note  to-morrow,  I'm  afraid,  but 
after  that  I  think  they  will  be  regular  till   I  reach  Ox- 


MiSCELLAXEOrS.  130 

ford.  It  is  very  nice  to  know  tliat  there  is  someone 
who  does  care  for  a  letter,  as  if  she  were  one's  sister. 
Yon  won  Id  be  g:hd  to  see  the  clonds  break  for  me  ;  and 
I  had  indeed  a  very  lovely  morning  drive  and  still  love- 
lier evening,  and  fnll  moonrise  here  over  the  Lnne. 

I  suppose  it  is  Kirk-bj-Lune's  Dale  ?  for  the  chnrch, 
I  find,  is  a  very  important  Korman  relic.  By  the  way, 
I  should  tell  you,  that  the  coloured  plates  in  the  ''  Stones 
of  Venice"  do  great  injustice  to  my  drawings ;  the 
patches  are  worn  on  the  stones.  My  drairings  were 
not  good^  but  tlie  plates  are  total  failures.  Tlie  oidy 
one  even  of  the  engravings  wliieh  is  rightly  done  is  the 
{last,  I  think,  in  Appendix)  inlaid  dove  and  raven.  J'll 
show  you  the  drawing  for  that  when  I  come  back,  and 
perhaps  for  the  San  Michele,  if  I  recollect  to  fetch  it 
from  Oxford,  and  I'll  fetch  you  the  second  volume, 
which  has  really  good  plates.  That  blue  beginning,  I 
forgot  to  say,  is  of  the  Straits  of  Messina,  and  it  is 
really  very  like  the  colour  of  the  sea. 

That  is  intensely  curious  about  the  parasitical  plant 
of  Borneo.     But — very  dreadful! 


140  EORTUS  IKCLUSUS. 

You  are  like  Timon  of  Atliens,  and  I'm  like  one  of 
Lis  parasites.  Tlie  oranges  are  delicious,  the  brown 
bread  dainty  ;  wliat  the  melon  is  going  to  be  I  have  no 
imagination  to  tell.  But,  oh  me,  I  had  such  a  lovely 
letter  from  Dr.  John,  sent  me  from  Joan  this  morning, 
and  I've  lost  it.  It  said,  ''  Is  Susie  as  good  as  her  let- 
ters? If  so,  she  must  be  better.  What  freshness  of 
enjoyment  in  everything  she  says  !" 

Alas!  not  in  everything  she  feels  in  this  weather,  I 
fear.     Was  ever  anything  so  awful  ? 


Do  you  know,  Susie,  everything  that  has  happened 
to  me  (and  the  leaf  I  sent  you  this  morning  may  show 
you  it  has  had  some  hurting  in  it)  is  little  in  comparison 
to  the  crushing  and  depressing  effect  on  me,  of  what  I 
learn  day  by  day  as  I  work  on,  of  the  cruelty  and  ghast- 
liness  of  the  nature  I  used  to  think  so  Divine  ?  But,  I 
get  out  of  it  by  remembering,  This  is  but  a  crumb  of 
dust  we  call  the  "  world,"  and  a  moment  of  eternity 
which  we  call  "  time."  Can't  answer  the  great  question 
to-night. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  141 

I  can  only  thank  vou  for  tellinjj^  nie ;  and  say,  Praised 
be   God    fur   giving   liini   back    to    ns. 

Woi-ldly  people  say  "Thank  God"  wlien  they  get 
what  they  want;  as  if  it  amused  God  to  phigne  them, 
and  was  a  vast  piece  of  self-denial  on  Ilis  part  to  give 
them  what  they  liked.  But  I,  who  am  a  simple  person, 
thank  God  when  He  hurts  me,  because  I  don't  tliink 
He  likes  it  ;my  more  than  I  do;  but  I  can't yy/v^/.sr  Ilim, 
because — I  don't  understand  why — I  can  only  praise 
what's  pretty  and  pleasant,  like  getting  back  our  doctor. 


26^/4  November. 

And  to-morrow  I'm  not  +o  be  there;  and  I've  no 
present  for  yon,  and  I  am  so  sorry  for  both  of  us;  but 
oh,  ray  dear  little  Susie,  the  good  people  all  say  this 
wretched  makeshift  of  a  world  is  coming  to  an  end 
next  year,  and  you  and  I  and  everybody  who  likes  biids 
and  roses  are  to  have  new  birthdays  and  ])resents  of 
such  sugar  plums.  Crystals  of  candied  cloud  and  tiianna 
in  sticks  with  no  ends,  all  the  way  to  the  sun,  and  v.  liite 
stones;  and  new  names  in  tlicni,  and  heaven  knows 
what   besides. 

It  sounds  all  too  good  to  be  true  ;  but  the  good  people 


142  HORTUS   IKCLUSUS. 

are  positive  of  it,  and  so's  tlie  great  Pyramid,  and  the 
Book  of  Daniel,  and  the  "  Bible  of  Amiens."  Yon 
caivt  possibly  believe  in  any  more  promises  of  mine, 
I  knov»',  but  if  I  do  come  to  see  you  this  day  week, 
don't  think  it's  a  ghost;  and  believe  at  least  that  we 
all  love  yon  and  rejoice  in  your  birthday  wherever 
we   are. 

I'm  so  thankful  you're  better. 

Reading  my  old  diary,  I  came  on  a  sentence  of  yours 
last  year  about  the  clouds  being  all  "  trimmed  with 
swansdown,"  so  pretty.  (I  copied  it  out  of  a  letter.) 
The  thoughts  of  you  always  trim  me  with  swansdown. 


I  never  got  your  note  written  yesterday ;  meant  at 
least  to  do  it  even  after  post  time,  but  was  too  stupid, 
and  am  infinitely  so  to-day  also.  Only  I  must  pray  you 
to  tell  Sarah  we  all  liad  elder  wine  to  finish  our  even- 
ing with,  and  I  mulled  it  myself,  and  poured  it  out  in 
the  saucepan  into  the  expectants'  glasses,  and  everybody 
asked  for  more  ;  and  I  slept  like  a  dormouse.  But,  as 
I  said,  I  am  so  stupid   this  morning  that .     Well, 


MISCELLANEOUS.  143 

tliere's  no  ''that"  able  to  say  how  stupid  I  am,  unless 
the  Hy  that  wouldn't  keep  out  of  the  candle  last  night ; 
and  he  had  bur  c  notion  of  bliss  to  be  found  in  candles, 
and   I've  no  notion   of  anything. 


The  blue  sky  is  so  wonderful  to-day  and  the  woods 
after  the  rain  so  delicious  for  walking  in  that  I  must  still 
delay  any  school  talk  one  day  more.  Meantime  I've  sent 
you  a  book  which  is  in  a  nice  lai'ge  print,  and  may  in 
some  parts  interest  yon.  I  gut  it  that  I  might  be  able  to 
see  Scott's  material  for  "  Peveril " ;  and  it  seems  to  me 
that  lie  might  have  made  more  of  the  real  attack  on  La- 
tli.iin  House  than  of  tlie  iictitions  one  on  Front  de 
Boenf's  castle,  had  he  been  so  minded,  bnt  perhaps  he 
felt  himself  hampered  by  too  much  known  fact. 

I've  just  finished  and  sent  off  the  index  to  "  Deuca- 
lion," first  volume,  and  didn't  feel  inclined  for  more 
schooling  to-day. 

Tve  jnst  had  a  chai'ining  message  from  Martha  Gale 
under  the  address  of  "  that  old  duckling."  Isn't  that 
nice?  Ethel  was  coming  to  see  you  to-day,  but  Tve  con- 
fiscated her  for  the  woodcock,  and  she  shan't  come  to- 


144  HORTUS   INCLUSUS. 

morrow,  for  I  want  you  all  to  mjself ;  only  it  isn't  lier 

fault. 


But  you  gave  my  present  before,  a  month  ago,  and 
I've  been  presenting  myself  with  all  sorts  of  things  ever 
since;  and  now  it's  not  half  gone.  I'm  very  thankful 
for  this  however,  jnst  now,  for  St.  George,  who  is 
cramped  in  his  career,  and  I'll  accept  it  if  you  like  for 
him:.  Meantime  I've  sent  it  to  the  bank,  and  hold  him 
your  debtor.  I've  had  the  most  delicious  gift  besides,  I 
ever  had  in  my  life, — the  Patriarch  of  Venice's  blessing 
written  with  his  own  hand,  with  his  portrait. 

I'll  bring  you  this  to  see  to-morrow,  and  a  fresh 
Turner. 


I  have  forbidden  Joanie's  going  out  to-day,  for  she 
got  a  little  chill  in  the  wind  last  night,  and  looked  pale 
and  chfaite  in  the  evening ;  she's  all  right  again,  but  I 
can't  risk  her  out,  though  she  was  much  minded  to  come, 
and  I  am  sure  you  and  Mary  will  say  I  am  right.  She 
will  be  delighted  and  refreshed,«by  seeing  the  young  la- 
dies; and  the  Turners  look  grand  in  the  grey  light. 


MISCELLANEOUS.  145 

So  I  Lave  told  Baxter  to  hriiig  up  a  fly  from  the  Wa- 
terhead,  and  to  secure  your  guests  on  their  way  here,  and 
put  up  to  bring  them  so  far  back.  I  sliall  also  send 
back  by  it  a  purple  l)it  of  Venice,  whicli  pleases  me, 
though  the  mount's  too  large  and  spoils  it  a  little  ;  but 
you  will  be  gracious  to  it. 

What  delicious  asparagus  and  brown  bread  IVe  been 
Laving !!!!!!!  I  should  like  to  write  as  mauy  notes  of 
admiration  as  there  are  waves  on  the  lake;  the  octave 
must  do.  I've  been  writing  a  pretty  bit  of  chant  for 
Byron's  heroic  measure.  Joan  must  play  it  to  you  when 
she  next  comes.  I'm  mighty  well,  and  rather  mis- 
chievous. 


The  weather  has  grievously  depressed  me  this  last 
week,  and  I  have  not  been  fit  to  speak  to  anybody.  I 
had  much  interruption  in  the  early  part  of  it  though, 
from  a  pleasant  visitor;  and  1  have  not  been  able  to  look 
rightly  at  your  pretty  little  book.  N^evertheless,  I'm 
fpiite  sure  your  strength  is  in  ])iMvate  letter  wi'iting,  and 
that  a  cni-ioiis  kind  oi  shyness  prevents  your  doing  your- 
self justice  in  ])riiit.  Vou  might  also  surely  have  found 
a  iiioi'e  pregnant  motto  about  birds'  nests! 


146  HORTUS  INCLUSUS. 

Am  not  I  cross  ?  But  these  grey  skies  are  mere 
poison  to  my  thoiiglits,  and  I  have  been  writing  such  let- 
ters, that  I  don't  think  many  of  my  friends  are  likely  to 
speak  to  me  again. 


I  think  you  must  have  been  spinning  the  sunbeams 
into  gold  to  be  able  to  scatter  gifts  like  this. 

It  is  your  own  light  of  the  eyes  that  has  made  the 
woodland  leaves  so  golden  brown. 

Well,  I  have  just  opened  a  St.  George  account  at  the 
Coniston  Bank,  and  this  will  make  me  grandly  miserly 
and  careful. 

I  am  very  thankful  for  it. 

Also  for  Harry's  saying  of  me  that  I  am  gentle !  I've 
been  quarrelling  with  so  many  people  lately,  I  had  for- 
gotten all  grace,  till  you  brought  it  back  yesterday  and 
made  me  still  your  gentle,  etc. 


SUSIE'S    LETTERS. 


SUSIE'S    LETTERS. 


The  following  Letters  and  the  little  ^Notes  on  Birds 
are  inserted  liere  by  the  express  wish  of  Mr.  Riiskin. 
I  had  it  in  my  mind  to  pay  Susie  some  extremely  fine 
compliments  about  these  Letters  and  I'Totes,  and  to 
compare  her  method  of  observation  with  Thoreau's,  and 
above  all,  to  tell  some  very  pretty  stories  showing  her 
St.  Francis-like  sympathy  with,  and  gentle  power  over, 
all  living  creatures  ;  but  Susie  says  that  she  is  already 
far  too  prominent,  ancl  we  hope  that  the  readers  of 
"  Hortus"  will  see  for  themselves  liow  she  reverences 
and  cherishes  all  noble  life,  with  a  special  tenderness,  I 
think,  for  furred  and  feathered  creatures.  To  all  out- 
cast and  hungry  things  the  Thwaite  is  a  veritable  Bethle- 
hem, or  House  of  Bread,  and  to  her,  their  sweet  "  Ma- 
donna Nourrice,"  no  less  than  to  her  Teacher,  the  spar- 

148 


SUSIK's    LETT K us.  14'^) 

rows  and   liniit'tri  that  crowd  its  thresholds  are  in  a  \cvy 
particular  sense  '*  Sons  of  God." 

A.  F. 


Apnl  Uth,  1874. 

I  sent  off  such  a  long  letter  to  jou  yesterday,  my  dear 
friend.  Did  yon  think  of  your  own  quotation  from 
Homer,  when  you  told  me  that  field  of  yours  was  full 
of  violets  ?  But  where  are  the  four  fountains  of  ichite 
water  ? — through  a  meadow  full  of  violets  and  parsley  I 
How  delicious  Calypso's  fire  of  finely  cho])ped  cedar  I 
How  shall  I  thank  you  for  allowing  me,  Susie  the  little, 
to  distil  your  writings  ?  Such  a  joy  and  comfort  to 
me — for  I  shall  need  much  very  soon  now.  I  do  so 
thank  and  love  you  for  it  ;  I  am  sure  I  may  say  so  to 
you.  I  rejoice  again  and  again  that  I  have  such  a 
friend.  May  I  never  love  liim  less,  never  })i-ove  un- 
wortliy  of  his  friendship!  How  I  wanted  my  letter, 
and  now  it  has  come,  and  I  have  told  our  Dr.  John  of 
your  safe  ])rogress  so  far.  J  trust  you  will  he  kept  safe 
from   ererythiuij  that  miglit  injure  you  in  anv  way. 

The  snow  has  melted  away,  and  this  is  a  rcallv  sweet 
April  day  and  ought  to  he  enjoyed — if  only  Susie  could. 


150  nORTUS   IJS'CLUSUS. 

But  both  she  and  her  dear  friend  must  strive  with  their 
grief.  When  I  was  a  girl — (I  was  once) — I  used  to  de- 
light m  Pope's  Homer.  I  do  believe  I  rather  enjoyed 
tlie  killing  and  slaying,  specially  the  splitting  down  the 
chine !  But  when  I  tried  to  read  it  again  not  very  long 
ago,  I  got  tired  of  this  kind  of  thing.  If  you  had  only 
translated  Homer!  then  I  should  have  had  a  feast. 
When  a  schoolgirl,  going  each  day  with  my  bag  of 
books  into  Manchester,  I  used  to  like  Don  Quixote  and 
Sir  Charles  Grandison  with  my  milk  porridge.  I  must 
send  you  only  this  short  letter  to-day.  I  can  see  your 
violet  field  from  this  window.  How  sweetly  the  little 
limpid  stream  would  tinTde  to-day  ;  and  how  the  prim- 
roses are  sitting  listening  to  it  and  the  little  birds  sip- 
ping it !  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  bees  go 
more  by  sight  than  by  scent.  As  I  stand  by  my  pea- 
cock with  his  gloriously  gorgeous  tail  all  spread  out,  a 
bee  comes  rightat  it  (very  vulgar,  but  expressive)  ;  and 
I  have  an  Alpine  Primula  on  this  window  stone  brightly 
in  flower,  and  a  bee  came  and  alighted,  but  went  away 
again  at  once,  not  finding  the  expected  honey.  I  won- 
•  der  what  you  do  the  livelong  day,  for  I  know  you  and 
idleness   are  not  acquaintances.     I  am   so  sorry  your 


Susie's  letters.  151 

fav(»i]rite  places  are  spoiled.     But  dear  Erantwood  will 
grow  prettier  and  prettier  under  your  care. 


April  Wi. 

I  have  just  been  pleased  by  seeing  a  blackbird  enjoy- 
ing with  schoolboy  appetite,  portions  of  a  moistened 
crust  of  bread  which  1  threw  out  for  him  and  his  fellow- 
creatures.  How  he  dug  with  his  orange  bill  I — even 
more  orange  than  usual  perhaps  at  this  season  of  the 
year.  At  length  the  robins  have  built  a  uest  in  tlie  ivy 
in  our  yard — a  very  secure  and  sheltered  place,  and  a 
very  convenient  distance  from  the  crunib  market.  Like 
the  Old  woman,  Jie  sings  with  a  merry  devotion,  and  sjie 
thinks  there  never  was  such  music,  as  she  sits  ui)()n  liei 
eggs  ;  he  comes  again  and  again,  with  every  little  dainty 
that  his  linjited  inc(;me  allows,  and  sJie  thinks  it  all  the 
sweeter  because  Jie  brings  it  to  her.  Kow  and  then  she 
leaves  her  nest  to  stretch  her  wings,  aiid  to  shake  oft"  tli(; 
dust  of  care,  and  to  ])revent  her  pretty  anJiles  being 
ci'ainped.  Ihit  she  knows  \\vy  duty  too  well  to  remain 
absent  long  from  her  pivclous  eggs. 

Now  anotliei-  little  note  fi'om  Dr.  John,  and  he 
actually  begins,  "  My  dear  '  Susie,'  " — and  ends, ''  Let  me 


152  HORTUS  II^CLUSUS.    . 

hear  from  you  soon.  Ever  yours  affectionately."  Also 
he  says,  ''  It  is  very  kind  in  you  to  let  me  get  at  once 
close  to  you,"  The  rest  of  his  short  letter  (like  you,  he 
was  bnsy)  is  nearly  all  about  yoii^  so  of  course  it  is  in- 
teresting to  m(?,  and  he  hopes  you  are  already  getting 
good  from  the  change  and  I  indulge  the  same  hope. 


l^fh  April 
Brantwood  looked  so  very  nice  this  morning  decorated 
by  the  coming  into  leaf  of  the  larches.  I  wish  yon  could 
have  seen  them  in  the  distance  as  I  did  :  the  early  sun- 
shine had  glanced  upon  them  lighting  up  one  side,  and 
leaving  the  other  in  softest  shade,  and  the  tender  green 
contrasted  with  the  deep  browns,  and  grays  stood  out  in 
a  wonderful  way,  and  the  trees  looked  like  spirits  of  the 
wood,  which  you  might  think  would  melt  away  like  the 
White  Lady  of  Avenel. 

Dear  sweet  April  still  looks  coldly  upon  us — the  month 
you  love  so  dearlj^  Little  white  lambs  are  in  the  fields 
now,  and  so  much  that  is  sweet  is  coming ;  but  there  is  a 
shadow  over  this  house  now  /  and  also,  my  dear  kind 
friend  is  far  away.  The  horse-chestnuts  have  thrown 
away  the  winter  coverings  of  their  buds,  and  given  them 


Susie's  letters.  153 

to  that  dear  economical  mother  earth,  who  makes  such 
good  use  of  everything,  and  works  up  okl  materials  nijain 
in  a  wonderful  way,  and  is  delightfully  unlike  most 
economists, — the  very  soul  of  generous  liherality.  Now 
some  of  your  own  woids,  so  powerful  as  they  are, — you 
are  speaking  of  the  Alp  and  of  the  "  Great  Builder" — of 
your  own  transientness,  as  of  the  grass  upon  its  sides ; 
and  in  this  very  sadness,  a  sense  of  strange  companionship 
with  past  generations,  in  seeing  what  they  saw\  They 
have  ceased  to  look  upon  it,  you  will  soon  cease  to  look 
also ;  and  the  granite  wall  will  be  for  others,  etc.,  etc. 

My  dear  friend,  was  there  ever  any  one  so  pathetic 
as  you  ?  And  you  have  the  power  of  bringing  things 
before  one,  both  to  the  eye  and  to  the  nn'nd  :  you  do 
indeed  paint  with  your  pen.  Xovv'  I  have  a  photograph 
of  you — not  a  very  satisfactory  one,  but  still  I  am  glad 
to  have  it,  rather  than  none.  It  was  done  at  ]N^ow- 
castle-on-Tyne.  Were  you  in  search  of  something  of 
Bewick's  ? 

I  have  just  given  the  S(piii'rel  his  little  ^o^^fj  (so  you 
see  I  am  a  lady,)"'  he  has  boundetl  away  with   it,  full  of 
joy  and  gladness.      I   wish   that    this   wimc   my  case  and 
*  Sec  "Fors  Chivijrera,"  LcUer  XLV. 


154  HORTUS  INCLUSUS. 

youi's^  for  whatever  we  maj  wish  for,  that  we  have  not. 
We  have  a  variety  and  abundance  of  loaves.  I  have 
asked  Dr.  J.  Brown  whether  lie  would  like  photographs 
of  your  house  and  the  picturesque  breakwater.  I  do  so 
wish  that  you  and  he  and  I  did  not  suifer  so  much,  but 
could  be  at  least  moderately  happy.  I  am  sure  you 
would  be  glad  if  you  knew  even  in  this  time  of  sorrow, 
when  all  seems  stale,  flat,  unprofitable,  the  pleasure  and 
interest  I  have  had  in  reading  your  Yol.  3  ["Modern 
Painters"].  I  study  your  character  in  your  writings,  and 
I  find  so  much  to  elevate,  to  love,  to  admire — a  sort  of 
education  for  my  poor  old  self — and  oh!  such  beauty  of 
thought  and  w^ord. 


Even  yet  my  birds  want  so  much  bread  ;  I  do  believe 
the  worms  are  sealed  up  in  the  dry  earth,  and  they  have 
many  little  mouths  to  fill  just  now^ — and  there  is  one  old 
blackbird  whose  devotion  to  his  wife  and  children  is 
lovely.  I  should  like  him  never  to  die,  he  is  one  of  my 
heroes.  And  now  a  dog  which  calls  upon  me  sometimes 
at  the  window,  and  I  point  kitchen  wards  and  the 
creature  knows  w^iat  I  mean,  and  goes  and  gets  a  good 
meal.     So  if  I  can  only  make  a  dog  happy  (as  you  do, 


SUSIE^S   LETTERS.  155 

only  joii  take  yours  to  live  with  yon,  and  I  cannot  do 
tliat)  it  is  a  pleasant  thing.  I  do  so  like  to  make  things 
happier,  and  I  shonld  like  to  pnt  bunches  of  hay  in  the 
tields  for  the  poor  horses,  for  there  is  very  scant  suj^ply 
of  grass,  and  too  many  for  the  supply. 


1st  May. 

I  cannot  longer  refrain  from  writing  to  yon,  my  dear 
kind  friend,  so  often  are  you  in  my  thoughts.  Dearest 
Joanie  has  told  you,  I  doubt  not,  and  I  know  how  sorry 
you  are,  and  how  truly  you  are  feeling  for  your  poor 
Susie.  So  hnoiuing  that  I  will  say  no  more  about  my 
sorrow.  There  is  no  need  for  words.  I  am  wishing,  oh, 
so  much,  to  know  how  you  are :  quite  safe  and  well,  I 
hope,  and  al)le  to  have  much  real  enjoyment  in  the  many 
beautiful  things  by  which  you  are  surrounded.  May  you 
lay  up  a  great  stock  of  good  health  and  receive  nmcli 
good  in  many  ways,  and  then  return  to  those  who  so 
much  miss  you,  and  by  whom  you  are  so  greatly  beloved. 

Coniston  would  go  into  your  heart  if  you  could  see 
it  now — so  very  lovely,  the  oak  ti'ees  so  I'ai'ly,  nearly 
in  leaf  already.  Your  belove<l  blue  hyacinths  wiil  soon 
be  out,  and  the  cuckoo  has  come,  but  it  is  long  since 


156  HORTirS  mCLUSUS. 

Susie  Las  been  out.  She  only  stands  at  an  open  win- 
dow, but  she  must  try  next  week  to  go  into  the  garden ; 
and  she  is  finding  a  real  pleasure  in  making  extracts 
from  your  writings  for  yoii^  often  wondering  "  will  he 
let  that  remain  V  and  lioping  that  he  will. 

Do  you  ever  send  home  orders  about  your  Brant- 
wood  'i  I  have  been  wishing  so  much  that  your  gar> 
dener  might  be  told  to  mix  quantities  of  old  mortar  and 
soil  together,  and  to  fill  many  crevices  in  your  new 
walls  with  it;  then  the  breezes  will  bring  fern  seeds 
and  plant  them,  or  rather  sow  them  in  such  fashion  as 
no  human  being  can  do.  When  time  and  the  showers 
brought  by  the  west  wind  have  mellowed  it  a  little,  the 
tiny  beginnings  of  mosses  will  be  there.  The  sooner 
this  can  be  done  the  better.  Do  not  think  Susie  pre- 
sumptuous. 

We  have  hot  sun  and  a  very  cool  air,  which  I  do 
not  at  all  like. 

I  hope  your  visit  to  Palermo  and  your  lady  have 
been  all  that  you  could  wish.  Please  do  write  to  me ; 
it  would  do  me  so  much  good  and  so  greatly  refresh 
me.  •  •► 


StJSIE*S   LETTERS.  157 

This  poor  little  letter  is  scarcely  worth  bending,  only 
it  says  that  1  am  your  loving  Susie. 


Uth  May. 
My  dearest  Friend. — Your  letter  yesterday  did  me 
so  much  good,  and  though  I  answered  it  at  once,  yet 
here  I  am  a^ain.  A  kind  woman  from  tlie  other  side 
has  sent  me  the  loveliest  group  of  drooping  and  very 
tender  ferns,  soft  as  of  some  velvet  belonging  to  the 
fairies,  and  of  the  most  exquisite  green,  and  ])rim roses, 
and  a  slender  stalked  white  flower,  and  so  arranged, 
that  they  continually  remind  me  of  thnt  enchanting 
group  of  yours  in  Vol.  3,  which  you  said  I  might  cut 
out.  What  would  you  have  thought  of  me  if  I  had  i 
Oh,  that  you  would  and  could  sketch  this  group — or 
even  that  your  eye  could  rest  upon  it!  Now  you  will 
laugh  if  I  ask  you  whether  harpies  ever  increase  in 
number?  or  whether  they  are  only  the '' uld  (^)r!gin;il."' 
They  quite  torment  me  when  T  open  the  window,  and 
blow  chalf  at  me.  I  suppose  at  this  moment,  deaii'st 
Joanie  is  steaming  away  to  Livei'pool  ;  one  always  wants 
to  know  now  whether  ])eople  accomplish  a  journey 
safely.       When  the  blackbirds  come   l"oi-  soaked    bread, 


158  HORTUS   INCLUSUS. 

tliej  generally  eat  a  nice  little  lot  themselves,  before 
carrying  any  away  from  tlie  window  for  their  little 
ones  ;  but  Bobbie,  "  our  little  English  Robin,"  has  just 
been  twice,  took  none  for  himself,  but  carries  beak-load 
after  beak-load  for  liis  speckled  infants.  How  curious 
the  universal  love  of  bread  is ;  so  many  things  like  and 
eat  it — even  flies,  and  snails! 

You  know  you  inserted  a  letter  from  Jersey  about 
fish  I  ^  A  lady  there  tells  me  that  formerly  yon  might 
have  a  bucket  of  oysters  for  sixpence,  and  that  now  you 
can  scarcely  get  anything  but  such  coarse  kinds  of  fish 
as  are  not  liked  ;  and  she  has  a  sister,  a  sad  invalid,  to 
whom  fish  would  be  a  very  pleasant  and  wholesome 
change.  This  is  really  a  sad  state  of  things,  and  here 
the  railw^ays  seem  very  likely  to  carry  away  our  but+er, 
and  it  is  now  such  a  price,  qnite  ex[h]orbitant.  Why 
did  I  put  an  h  in  ?  Is  it  to  prove  the  truth  of  what 
yon  say,  that  ladies  do  not  spell  well  'i  A  letter  which 
I  once  wrote  vvdien  a  girl  was  a  wonderful  specimen  of 
bad  spelling. 

*  See  "  Fors  Clavigera,"  Letter  XXX. 


Susie's  letters.  159 

15t7i  May. 

I  have  found  such  lovely  passages  in  Vol.  1  this 
morning  tliat  1  am  delighted,  and  have  hegun  to  C'opy 
one  of  them.  You  do  float  in  snch  beautiful  tilings 
sometimes  that  you  make  me  feel  I  don't  know  how  I 

How  I  thank  you  for  ever  having  written  them,  for 
though  late  in  the  day,  they  were  written  for  me^  and 
have  at  length  reached  me  ! 

You  are  so  candid  about  yonr  age  that  I  shall  tell 
you  mine  I  I  am  astonished  to  And  myself  sixty-eight 
— very  near  the  Psalmist's  threescore  and  ten.  Much 
illness  and  much  sorrow,  and  then  I  woke  up  to  And 
myself  old^  and  as  if  I  had  lost  a  great  part  of  my  life. 
Let  us  hope  it  was  not  all  lost. 

I  think  yov,  can  understand  me  when  I  say  that  I  have 
a  great  fund  of  love,  and  no  one  to  spend  it  upon,  he- 
cause  there  are  not  any  to  whom  I  could  give  it/V////, 
and  I  love  my  pets  so  dearly,  but  I  dare  not  and  cannot 
enjoy  it  fidly  because — they  die^  or  get  injured,  and 
then  my  misery  is  intense.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  tell  i/(nt 
much,  because  your  sympathy  is  so  refined  and  so  tender 
and  true.     Cannot  T  be  a  sort  of  second  mother  to  you  : 


160  HORTrS   INCLUSUS. 

I  am  sure  the  first  one  was  often   praying  for  blessings 
for  yon,  and  in  this,  at  least,  I  resemble  her. 

Am  I  tiresome  writing  all  this  ?  It  just  came,  and 
you  said  I  was  to  write  what  did.  We  have  had  some 
nice  rain,  but  followed  not  by  warmth,  but  a  cruel  east 
wind. 


ABOUT   WRENS. 

This  year  I  have  seen  wrens'  nests  in  three  different 
kinds  of  places — one  built  in  the  angle  of  a  doorway,  one 
under  a  bank,  and  a  third  near  the  top  of  a  raspberry 
bush  ;  this  last  was  so  large  that  when  our  gardener  first 
saw  it,  he  thought  it  was  a  swarm  of  bees.  It  seems  a 
pleasure  to  this  active  bird  to  build  ;  he  will  begin  to 
build  several  nests  sometimes  before  he  completes  one 
for  Jenny  Wren  to  lay  her  eggs  and  make  her  nursery. 
Think  how  busy  both  he  and  Jenny  are  when  the  six- 
teen young  ones  come  out  of  their  shells — little  helpless 
gaping  things  wanting  feeding  in  their  turns  the  livelong 
summer  day  !     What  hundreds  and  thousands  of  small 

insects  they  devour !    they   catch   flies  with   good  sized 
wings.     I  have  seen  a  parent  wren  with  its  beak  so  full 


Susie's  letters.  jni 

that  the  wings  stood  out  at  each  side  like  the  whiskers  of 
a  cat. 

Once  in  America  in  the  month  of  June,  a  mower  hnng 
up  his  coat  under  a  slied  near  a  harn  :  two  or  three  days 
passed  before  he  had  occasion  to  pnt  it  on  again. 
Thrusting  his  arm  up  the  sleeve  he  found  it  completely 
filled  with  something,  and  on  pulling  out  the  mass  he 
found  it  to  be  the  nest  of  a  wi'cn  completely  finished  aud 
lined  w^ith  featliers.  What  a  pity  that  all  the  labour  of 
the  little  pair  had  been  in  vain  I  Great  was  the  distress 
of  the  birds,  who  vehemently  and  angrily  scolded  him 
for  destroying  their  house  ;  happily  it  was  an  empty  one, 
without  either  eggs  or  young  birds. 


HISTORY   OF    A    BLACKBIRD. 

We  had  liad  one  of  those  sumn^er  storms  which  so  in- 
jure the  beautiful  flowers  and  the  young  leaves  of  the 
trees,  A  blackbird's  uest  witli  young  ones  in  it  was 
blown  out  of  the  ivy  on  tlie  wall,  and  the  little  ones, 
with  the  excej)tion  of  oi;e,  were  killed  !  The  jxior  little 
bird   did  not  escape  without  a  wound    u[)on  his  head,  and 


162  HORTUS   INCLUSUS. 

when  he  was  bronglit  to  me  it  did  not  seem  very  likely 
that  I  should  ever  be  able  to  rear  him  ;  but  I  could  not 
refuse  to  take  in  the  little  helpless  stranger,  so  I  put  him 
into  a  covered  basket  for  a  while. 

I  soon  found  that  I  had  undertaken  what  was  no  easy 
task,  for  lie  required  feeding  so  early  in  a  morning  that 
I  was  obliged  to  take  him  and  his  bread  crumbs  into  my 
bed-room,  and  jump  up  to  feed  him  as  soon  as  he  began 
to  chirp,  which  he  did  in  very  good  time. 

Then  in  the  daytime  I  did  not  dare  to  have  him  in  the 
sitting-room  with  me,  because  my  sleek  favourites,  the 
cats,  would  soon  have  devoured  him,  so  I  carried  him  up 
into  an  attic,  and  as  he  required  feeding  very  often  in 
the  day,  you  may  imagine  that  I  had  quite  enough  of 
exercise  in  running  up  and  down  stairs. 

But  I  was  not  going  to  neglect  the  helpless  thing  after 
once  undertaking  to  nurse  him,  and  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  him  thrive  well  upon  his  diet  of  dry-bread 
crumbs  and  a  little  scrap  of  raw  meat  occasionally  ;  this 
last  delicacy,  you  know,  was  a  sort  of  imitation  of 
worms ! 

Very  soon  my  birdie  knew  my  step,  and  though  he 
never  exactly  said  so,  I  am  sure  he  thought  it  had  "  uju- 


Susie's  letters.  163 

sick  in't,"  for  as  soon  as  I  touched  the  handle  of  the 
door  he  set  up  a  shriek  of  joy  ! 

"  The  bird  that  we  nurse  is  the  bird  that  we  love,'' 
and  I  soon  loved  Dick.  And  the  love  was  not  all  on  one 
side,  for  my  bonnie  bird  would  sit  upon  my  finger  utter- 
ing complacent  little  chirps,  and  when  I  sang  to  him  in 
a  low  voice  he  would  gently  peck  my  hair. 

As  he  grew  on  and  wanted  to  use  his  limbs,  I  put  liini 
into  a  largt  ricker  bonnet-basket,  having  taken  out  the 
lining;  it  made  him  a  large  cheerful  airy  cage.  Of 
course  I  had  a  perch  put  across  it,  and  he  had  plenty  of 
white  sand  and  a  pan  of  water  ;  sometimes  I  set  his  bath 
on  the  floor  of  the  room,  and  he  delighted  in  bathing  un- 
til he  looked  half-drowned ;  then  what  shaking  of  his 
feathers,  what  'preenimj  and  arranging  there  was !  And 
how  happy  and  clean  and  comfortable  he  looked  when 
his  toilet  was  completed  ! 

You  may  be  sure  that  I  took  him  some  of  the  first 
ripe  currants  and  strawberries,  for  blackbirds  like  fruit, 
and  so  do  boys  !  When  he  was  fledged  I  let  him  uut  in 
the  room,  and  so  he  could  exercise  his  wings.  It  is  a 
curious  fact  that  if  I  went  up  to  him  with  my  bonnet  o^ 


164  HORTUS   INCLUSUS- 

he  did  not  know  me  at  all,  but  was  in  a  state  of  great 
alarm. 

Blackbirds  are  wild  birds,  and  do  not  bear  being  kept 
in  a  cage,  not  even  so  well  as  some  other  birds  do ;  and 
as  this  bird  grew  up  he  was  not  so  tame,  and  was  rather 
restless.  I  knew  that,  though  I  loved  him  so  much,  I 
ought  not  to  keep  him  shut  up  against  his  will.  He  was 
carried  down  into  the  garden  while  the  raspberries  were 
ripe,  and  allowed  to  fly  away;  and  I  have  never  seen 
him  since.  Do  you  wonder  that  my  eyes  filled  with 
tears  when  he  left  ? 


THE  END. 


Electrotyped  by  Drummond  &  Neu,  Hague  Street,  New  YorJc, 


RUSKIN'S      LITTLE      WANTS. 


indeed,  I  rathei-  want  gfood  wishes  just 
now,  for  T  am  tormented  by  what  I  can 
not  .s:et  said  nor  done,  wrote  John  Rus- 
kin  to  Charles  Eliot  Norton.-  I  want 
to  get  all  the  Titians.  Tintorettl,  Paul 
Veronescs,  Turners  and  Sir  Joshuas— 
in  the  world— into  one  great  fireproof 
Gothic  gallery  of  m.arble  and  serpentine. 
I  want  to  get  them  all  perfectly  en- 
graved. I  want  to  go  and  draw  all  the 
subjects  of  Turner's  19,000  sketches  m 
Switzerland  and  Italy,  elaborated  by 
myself.  I  want  to  get  everybody  a  din- 
ner who  hasn't  got  one.  I  want  to  mar 
cadamize  some  new  roads  to  Heaven 
with  broken  fools'  heads:  I  want  to  hang 
up  some  knaves  out  of  the  way — not  that 
I've  any  dislike  to  them,  but  I  think 
it  would  be  wholesome  for  them,  and  for 
other  people,  and  that  Lhey  would  make 
good  crow's  meat. 

'I  want  to  play  all  day  long  and  arrange 
my  cabinet  of  minerals  with  new  white 
wool;  I  want  somebody  to  amuse  me 
when  I'm  tired;  I  want  Turner's  pic- 
tures not  to  fade;  I  want  to  bo  able  to 
draw- clouds,  and  to  understand  .how,  they 
go— and  I  can't  make  theni  stand  still, 
nor  understand  them— they  all  go  side- 
ways. 

Further,  I  want  to  make  the  Italians 
industrious,  the  Americans  quiet,  the 
Swiss  romantic,  the  Roman  Catholics, 
rational,  and  the  English  Parliament 
honest — and  I  can't  do  anything  and 
don't  understand  what  I  was  born  for.. 
I  get  melancholy— overeat  myself,  over- 
sleep myself— get  pains  in  the  back-^ 
don't  know  what  to  do  in  anywise.  What 
with  that  infernal  invention  of  steam, 
and  gunpowder— I  think  the  fools  may 
be  a  puff  or  barrel  or  two  too  many  for 
us.  Nevertheless,  the  gunpowder  has 
been  doing  some  work  in  China  and  In- 
dia.—Atlantic    Monthly. 


■'  '^Xv^Skv 


